CHILDREN 

OF 

THE 

DEAD 

END 


CHILDREN    OF 
THE   DEAD   END 

THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 
OF     AN      IRISH      NAVVY 

BY 

PATRICK 
MACGILL 


NEW  YORK 

E.  P.   DUTTON   6-  COMPANY 
68 1    Fifth   Avenue 


THE  ANCHOB  PRESS,  LTD.,  TIPTREE,  ESSEX,  ENGLAND. 


FOREWORD 

a  "W"  WISH  the  Kinlochleven  navvies  had  been  thrown 
%       into  the  loch.     They  would  fain  turn  the  High- 
JL     lands  into  a  cinderheap,"  said  the  late  Andrew 
Lang,  writing  to  me  a  few  months  before  his  death. 

In  the  following  pages  I  have  endeavoured  to  tell  of  the 
navvy ;  the  life  he  leads,  the  dangers  he  dares,  and  the 
death  he  often  dies.  Most  of  my  story  is  autobiographical. 
Moleskin  Joe  and  Carroty  Dan  are  true  to  life ;  they 
live  now,  and  for  all  I  know  to  the  contrary  may  be 
met  with  on  some  precarious  job,  in  some  evil-smelling 
model  lodging-house,  or,  as  suits  these  gipsies  of  labour, 
on  the  open  road.  Norah  Ryan's  painful  story  shows 
the  dangers  to  which  an  innocent  girl  is  exposed  through 
ignorance  of  the  fundamental  facts  of  existence ;  Gourock 
Ellen  and  Annie  are  types  of  women  whom  I  have  often 
met.  While  asking  a  little  allowance  for  the  pen  of  the 
novelist  it  must  be  said  that  nearly  all  the  incidents  of  the 
book  have  come  under  the  observation  of  the  writer  :  that 
such  incidents  should  take  place  makes  the  tragedy  of  the 
story. 

PATRICK  MACGILL. 
The  Garden  House, 

Windsor. 

January,  1914. 


2081625 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  A   NIGHT  IN   MY  FATHER'S  HOUSE     -  I 

II.  OLD   CUSTOMS                -                                -  8 

III.  A  CORSICAN   OUTRAGE                               -  15 

IV.  THE   GREAT  SILENCE  -  l8 
V.  THE  SLAVE  MARKET                                   -  25 

VI.  BOYNE  WATER  AND  HOLY  WATER    -  -  34 

VII.  A  MAN   OF  TWELVE  -  41 

VIII.  OLD   MARY  SORLEY    -  -  48 

IX.  A   GOOD  TIME  -  56 

X.  THE  LEADING  ROAD  TO  STRABANE  -  -  62 

xi.  THE  'DERRY  BOAT   -  -  67 

XII.  THE  WOMAN  WHO  WAS  NOT  ASHAMED           -  74 

XIII.  THE  MAN  WITH  THE  DEVIL'S   PRAYER  BOOK  84 

XIV.  PADDING   IT  -  92 
XV.  MOLESKIN   JOE  -  99 

XVI.  MOLESKIN   JOE  AS  MY  FATHER  -  105 

XVII.  ON  THE  DEAD   END  -  -  III 

XVIII.  THE  DRAINER  -  127 

XIX.  A  DEAD   MAN'S  SHOES  -  I2Q 

XX.  BOOKS  -  136 

XXI.  A  FISTIC  ARGUMENT  -  146 

XXII.  THE  OPEN   ROAD         -  -  151 

XXIII.  THE  COCK  OF  THE  NORTH     -  -  168 

XXIV.  MECCA              -  -  175 
XXV.  THE  MAN  WHO  THRASHED  CARROTY  DAN     -  182 

XXVI.  A  GREAT  FIGHT           ....  Xgj 

XXVII.  DE   PROFUNDIS             -  -  213 


X 

CHAITEK 

XXVIII. 

XXIX. 

XXX. 

XXXI. 

XXXII. 

XXXIII. 

XXXIV. 

XXXV. 

XXXVI. 


CONTENTS 


A  LITTLE  TRAGEDY  ...  2I7 

I  WRITE  FOR  THE  PAPERS    -  225 

WINTER  -  230 

THE  GREAT  EXODUS  -  -  243 

A  NEW  JOB   -  -  -  254 

A  SWEETHEART  OF  MINE  -  263 

UNSKILLED   LABOUR  OF  A  NEW  KIND              -  274 

THE  SEARCH  -  -  287 

THE  END   OF  THE  STORY  -  -                -  298 


CHILDREN 

OF 

THE 

DEAD 

END 


CHILDREN  OF 
THE  DEAD  END 

CHAPTER    I 

A   NIGHT  IN   MY  FATHER'S  HOUSE 

"  The  wee  red-headed  man  is  a  knowing  sort  of  fellow, 
His  coat  is  cat's-eye  green  and  his  pantaloons  are  yellow, 
His  brogues  be  made  of  glass  and  his  hose  be  red  as  cherry, 
He's  the  lad  for  devilment  if  you  only  make  him  merry. 
He  drives  a  flock  of  goats,  has  another  flock  behind  him. 
The  little  children  fear  him  but  the  old  folk  never  mind  him. 
To  the  frogs'  house  and  the  goats'  house  and  the  hilly  land  and 

hollow, 

He  will  carry  naughty  children  where  the  parents  dare  not  follow. 
Oh  !  little  ones,  beware.  If  the  red-haired  man  should  catch  you, 
You'll  have  only  goats  to  play  with  and  croaking  frogs  to  watch 

you, 

A  bed  between  two  rocks  and  not  a  fire  to  warm  you  I — 
Then,  little  ones,  be  good  and  the  red-haired  man  can't  harm  you." 

— From  The  Song  of  the  Red-haired  Man. 

IT  was  night  in  the  dead  of  winter,  and  we  sat  around 
the  fire  that  burned  in  red  and  blue  flames  on  the 
wide  open  hearth.     The  blue  flames  were  a  sign  of 
storm. 

The  snow  was  white  on  the  ground  that  stretched  away 
from  the  door  of  my  father's  house,  down  the  dip  of  the 
brae  and  over  the  hill  that  rose  on  the  other  side  of  the 
glen.  I  had  just  been  standing  out  by  the  little  hillock 
that  rose  near  the  corner  of  the  home  gable-end,  watching 
the  glen  people  place  their  lamps  in  the  window  corners. 
I  loved  to  see  the  lights  come  out  one  by  one  until  every 
house  was  lighted  up.  Nothing  looks  so  cheerful  as  a 
lamp  seen  through  the  darkness. 

B 


2      CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

On  the  other  side  of  the  valley  a  mountain  stream 
tumbled  down  to  the  river.  It  was  always  crying  out  at 
night  and  the  wail  in  its  voice  could  be  heard  ever  so  far 
away.  It  seemed  to  be  lamenting  over  something  which  it 
had  lost.  I  always  thought  of  woman  dreeing  over  a  dead 
body  when  I  listened  to  it.  It  seemed  so  strange  to  me, 
too,  that  it  should  keep  coming  down  and  down  for  ever. 

The  hills  surrounding  the  glen  were  very  high  ;  the  old 
people  said  that  there  were  higher  hills  beyond  them,  but 
this  I  found  very  hard  to  believe. 

These  were  the  thoughts  in  my  mind  as  I  entered  my  home 
and  closed  the  door  behind  me.  From  the  inside  I  could 
see  the  half-moon,  twisted  like  a  cow's  horn,  shining  through 
the  window. 

"  It  will  be  a  wet  month  this,"  said  my  father.  "  There 
are  blue  flames  in  the  fire,  and  a  hanging  moon  never  keeps 
in  rain." 

The  wind  was  moaning  over  the  chimney.  By  staying 
very  quiet  one  could  hear  the  wail  in  its  voice,  and  it  was 
like  that  of  the  stream  on  the  far  side  of  the  glen.  A  pot 
of  potatoes  hung  over  the  fire,  and  as  the  water  bubbled  and 
sang  the  potatoes  could  be  seen  bursting  their  jackets 
beneath  the  lid.  The  dog  lay  beside  the  hearthstone,  his 
nose  thrust  well  over  his  forepaws,  threaping  to  be  asleep, 
but  ready  to  open  his  eyes  at  the  least  little  sound.  Maybe 
he  was  listening  to  the  song  of  the  pot,  for  most"  dogs 
like  to  hear  it.  An  oil  lamp  swung  by  a  string  from  the 
roof-tree  backwards  and  forwards  like  a  willow  branch 
when  the  wind  of  October  is  high.  As  it  swung  the  shadows 
chased  each  other  in  the  silence  of  the  farther  corners  of 
the  house.  My  mother  said  that  if  we  were  bad  children 
the  shadows  would  run  away  with  us,  but  they  never  did, 
and  indeed  we  were  often  full  of  all  sorts  of  mischief.  We 
felt  afraid  of  the  shadows,  they  even  frightened  mother. 
But  father  was  afraid  of  nothing.  Once  he  came  from 


A  NIGHT  IN  MY  FATHER'S  HOUSE     3 

Ardara  fair  on  the  Night  of  the  Dead*  and  passed  the 
graveyard  at  midnight. 

Sometimes  my  mother  would  tell  a  story,  and  it  was 
always  about  the  wee  red-headed  man  who  had  a  herd 
of  goats  before  him  and  a  herd  of  goats  behind  him,  and  a 
salmon  tied  to  the  laces  of  his  brogues  for  supper.  I  have 
now  forgotten  all  the  great  things  which  he  went  through, 
but  in  those  days  I  always  thought  the  story  of  the 
wee  red-headed  man  the  most  wonderful  one  in  all  the 
world.  At  that  time  I  had  never  heard  another. 

For  supper  we  had  potatoes  and  buttermilk.  The 
potatoes  were  emptied  into  a  large  wicker  basket  round 
which  we  children  sat  with  a  large  bowl  of  buttermilk 
between  us,  and  out  of  this  bowl  we  drank  in  turn.  Usually 
the  milk  was  consumed  quickly,  and  afterwards  we  ate  the 
potatoes  dry. 

Nearly  every  second  year  the  potatoes  went  bad  ;  then 
we  were  always  hungry,  although  Farley  McKeown,  a  rich 
merchant  in  the  neighbouring  village,  let  my  father  have  a 
great  many  bags  of  Indian  meal  on  credit.  A  bag  contained 
sixteen  stone  of  meal  and  cost  a  shilling  a  stone.  On  the  bag 
of  meal  Farley  McKeown  charged  sixpence  a  month  interest ; 
and  fourpence  a  month  on  a  sack  of  flour  which  cost  twelve 
shillings.  All  the  people  round  about  were  very  honest, 
and  paid  up  their  debts  whenever  they  were  able.  Usually 
when  the  young  went  off  to  Scotland  or  England  they  sent 
home  money  to  their  fathers  and  mothers,  and  with  this 
money  the  parents  paid  for  the  meal  to  Farley  McKeown. 
"What  doesn't  go  to  the  landlord  goes  to  Farley  McKeown," 
was  a  Glenmornan  saying. 

The  merchant  was  a  great  friend  of  the  parish  priest, 

who  always  told  the  people  if  they  did  not  pay  their  debts 

they  would  burn  for  ever  and  ever  in  hell.     "  The  fires  of 

eternity  will  make  you  sorry  for  the  debts  that  you  did  not 

*  The  evening  of  All  Souls'  Day. 


4      CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

pay,"  said  the  priest.  "  What  is  eternity  ?  "  he  would 
ask  in  a  solemn  voice  from  the  altar  steps.  "  If  a  man 
tried  to  count  the  sands  on  the  sea -shore  and  took  a  million 
years  to  count  every  single  grain,  how  long  would  it  take 
him  to  count  them  all  ?  A  long  time,  you'll  say.  But  that 
time  is  nothing  to  eternity.  Just  think  of  it !  Burning  in  hell 
while  a  man,  taking  a  million  years  to  count  a  grain  of 
sand,  counts  all  the  sand  on  the  sea-shore.  And  this  because 
you  did  not  pay  Farley  McKeown  his  lawful  debts,  his 
lawful  debts  within  the  letter  of  the  law."  That  conclud- 
ing phrase  "  within  the  letter  of  the  law  "  struck  terror  into 
all  who  listened,  and  no  one,  maybe  not  even  the  priest 
himself,  knew  what  it  meant. 

Farley  McKeown  would  give  no  meal  to  those  who  had 
no  children.  "  That  kind  of  people,  who  have  no  children 
to  earn  for  them,  never  pay  debts,"  he  said.  "  If  they  get 
meal  and  don't  pay  for  it  they'll  go  down — down,"  said 
the  priest.  "  Tis  God  Himself  that  would  be  angry 
with  Farley  McKeown  if  he  gave  meal  to  people  like 
that." 

The  merchant  established  a  great  knitting  industry  in 
West  Donegal.  My  mother  used  to  knit  socks  for  him, 
and  he  paid  her  at  the  rate  of  one  and  threepence  a  dozen 
pairs,  and  it  was  said  that  he  made  a  shilling  of  profit  on 
a  pair  of  these  in  England.  My  mother  usually  made  a 
pair  of  socks  daily  ;  but  to  do  this  she  had  to  work 
sixteen  hours  at  the  task.  Along  with  this  she  had  her 
household  duties  to  look  after  "  A  penny  farthing  a  day 
is  not  much  to  make,"  I  once  said  to  her.  "  No,  indeed, 
if  you  look  at  it  in  that  way,"  she  answered.  "  But  it  is 
nearly  two  pounds  a  year  and  that  is  half  the  rent  of  our 
farm  of  land." 

Every  Christmas  Farley  McKeown  paid  two  hundred 
and  fifty  pounds  to  the  church.  When  the  priest  announced 
this  from  the  altar  he  would  say,  "  That's  the  man  for  you ! " 


A  NIGHT  IN  MY  FATHER'S  HOUSE    5 

and  all  the  members  of  the  congregation  would  bow  their 
heads,  feeling  very  much  ashamed  of  themselves  because 
none  of  them  could  give  more  than  a  sixpence  or  a  shilling 
to  the  silver  collection  which  always  took  place  at  the  chapel 
of  Greenanore  on  Christmas  Day. 

When  the  night  grew  later  my  mother  put  her  bright 
knitting-needles  by  in  a  bowl  over  the  fireplace,  and  we  all 
went  down  on  our  knees,  praying  together.  Then  mother 
said  :  "  See  and  leave  the  door  on  the  latch  ;  maybe  a  poor 
man  will  need  shelter  on  a  night  like  this."  With  these 
words  she  turned  the  ashes  over  on  the  live  peat  while  we 
got  into  our  beds,  one  by  one. 

There  were  six  children  in  our  family,  three  brothers  and 
three  sisters.  Of  these,  five  slept  in  one  room,  two  girls 
in  the  little  bed,  while  Fergus  and  Dan  slept  along  with  me 
in  the  other,  which  was  much  larger.  Father  and  mother 
and  Kate,  the  smallest  of  us  all,  slept  in  the  kitchen. 

When  the  light  was  out,  we  prayed  to  Mary,  Brigid,  and 
Patrick  to  shield  us  from  danger  until  the  morning.  Then 
we  listened  to  the  winds  outside.  We  could  hear  them 
gather  in  the  dip  of  the  valley  and  come  sweeping  over  the 
bend  of  the  hill,  singing  great  lonely  songs  in  the  darkness. 
One  wind  whistled  through  the  keyhole,  another  tapped  on 
the  window  with  an  ivy  leaf,  while  a  third  swept  under  the 
half-door  and  rustled  across  the  hearthstone.  Then  the 
breezes  died  away  and  there  was  silence. 

"  They're  only  putting  their  heads  together  now,"  said 
Dan,  "  making  up  a  plan  to  do  some  other  tricks." 

"  I  see  the  moon  through  the  window,"  said  Norah. 

"  Who  made  the  moon  ?  "  asked  Fergus. 

"  It  was  never  made,"  answered  Dan.  "  It  was  there 
always." 

"  There  is  a  man  in  the  moon,"  I  said.  "  He  was  very 
bad  and  a  priest  put  him  up  there  for  his  sins." 

"  He  has  a  pot  of  porridge  in  his  hand." 


6      CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

"  And  a  spoon." 

"  A  wooden  spoon." 

"  How  could  it  shine  at  night  if  it's  only  a  wooden 
spoon  ?  It's  made  of  white  silver." 

"  Like  a  shillin'." 

"  Like  a  big  shillin'  with  a  handle  to  it." 

"  What  would  we  do  if  we  had  a  shillin'  ?  "  asked 
Ellen. 

"I'd  buy  a  pocket-knife,"  said  Dan. 

"  Would  you  cut  me  a  stick  to  drive  bullocks  to  the 
harvest  fair  of  Greenanore  ?  "  asked  Fergus. 

"  And  what  good  would  be  in  havin'  a  knife  if  you  cut 
sticks  for  other  folk  ?  " 

"I'd  buy  a  prayer-book  for  the  shillin',"  said  Norah. 

"  A  prayer-book  is  no  good,  once  you  get  it,"  I  said. 
"  A  knife  is  far  and  away  better." 

"  I  would  buy  a  sheep  for  a  shillin',"  said  Fergus. 

"  You  couldn't  get  a  sheep  for  a  shillin'." 

"  Well,  I  could  buy  a  young  one." 

"  There  never  was  a  young  sheep.  A  young  one  is  only 
a  lamb." 

"  A  lamb  turns  into  a  sheep  at  midsummer  moon." 

"  Why  has  a  lamb  no  horns  ?  "  asked  Norah. 

"  Because  it's  young,"  we  explained. 

"  We'll  sing  a  holy  song,"  said  Ellen. 

"  We'll  sing  Holy  Mary,"  we  all  cried  together,  and  began 
to  sing  in  the  darkness. 

"  Oh  !  Holy  Mary,  mother  mild. 
Look  down  on  me,  a  little  child, 
And  when  I  sleep  put  near  my  bed 
The  good  Saint  Joseph  at  my  head, 
My  guardian  Angel  at  my  right 
To  keep  me  good  through  all  the  night ; 
Saint  Brigid  give  me  blessings  sweet ; 
Saint  Patrick  watch  beside  my  feet. 
Be  good  to  me  O  !  mother  mild, 
Because  I  am  a  little  child." 


A  NIGHT  IN  MY  FATHER'S  HOUSE    7 

"  Get  a  sleep  on  you,"  mother  called  from  the  next  room. 
"  The  wee  red-headed  man  is  comin'  down  the  chimley 
and  he  is  goin'  to  take  ye  away  if  ye  aren't  quiet." 

We  fell  asleep,  and  that  was  how  the  night  passed  by  in 
my  father's  house  years  ago. 


CHAPTER    II 

OLD  CUSTOMS 

'  Put  a  green  cross  beneath  the  roof  on  the  eve  of  good  Saint  Bride 
And  you'll  have  luck  within  the  house  for  long  past  Lammastide  ; 
Put  a  green  cross  above  the  door — 'tis  hard  to  keep  it  green, 
But  'twill  bring  good  luck  and  happiness  for  long  past  Hallow 

E'en 
The  green  cross  holds  Saint  Brigid's  spell,  and  long    the  spell 

endures, 
And  'twill  bring  blessings  on  the  head  of  you  and  all  that's  yours." 

— From  The  Song  of  Simple  People. 

ONCE  a  year,  on  Saint  Bride's  Eve,  my  father  came 
home  from  his  day's  work,  carrying  a  load  of 
green  rushes  on  his  shoulders.  At  the  door  he 
would  stand  for  a  moment  with  his  feet  on  the  threshold 
and  say  these  words  : 

"  Saint  Bride  sends  her  blessings  to  all  within.  Give  her 
welcome." 

Inside  my  mother  would  answer,  "  Welcome  she  is," 
and  at  these  words  my  father  would  loosen  the  shoulder- 
knot  and  throw  his  burden  on  the  floor.  Then  he  made 
crosses  from  the  rushes,  wonderful  crosses  they  were.  It 
was  said  that  my  father  was  the  best  at  that  kind  of  work 
in  all  the  countryside.  When  made,  they  were  placed  in 
various  parts  of  the  house  and  farm.  They  were  hung  up 
in  our  home,  over  the  lintel  of  the  door,  the  picture  of  the 
Holy  Family,  the  beds,  the  potato  pile  and  the  fireplace. 
One  was  placed  over  the  spring  well,  one  in  the  pig-sty,  and 
one  over  the  roof-tree  of  the  byre.  By  doing  this  the 
blessing  of  Saint  Bride  remained  in  the  house  for  the  whole 


OLD  CUSTOMS  9 

of  the  following  year.  I  liked  to  watch  my  father  plaiting 
the  crosses,  but  I  could  never  make  one  myself. 

When  my  mother  churned  milk  she  lifted  the  first  butter 
that  formed  on  the  top  of  the  cream  and  placed  it  against 
the  wall  outside  the  door.  It  was  left  there  for  the  fairy 
folk  when  they  roamed  through  the  country  at  midnight. 
They  would  not  harm  those  who  gave  them  an  offering  in 
that  manner,  but  the  people  who  forgot  them  would  have 
illness  among  their  cattle  through  all  the  length  of  the  year. 

If  my  father  met  a  red-haired  woman  when  he  was  going 
to  the  market  he  would  turn  home.  To  meet  a  red-haired 
woman  on  the  high-road  is  very  unlucky. 

It  is  a  bad  market  where  there  are  more  women  than 
men.  "  Two  women  and  a  goose  make  a  market,"  is  the 
saying  among  the  Glenmornan  folk. 

If  my  mother  chanced  to  overturn  the  milk  which  she 
had  drawn  from  the  cow,  she  would  say  these  words  : 
"  Our  loss  go  with  it.  Them  that  it  goes  to  need  it  more 
than  we  do."  One  day  I  asked  her  who  were  the  people 
to  whom  it  went.  "  The  gentle  folk,"  she  told  me.  These 
were  the  fairies. 

You  very  seldom  hear  persons  called  by  their  surname 
in  Glenmornan.  Every  second  person  you  meet  there 
is  either  a  Boyle  or  an  O'Donnell.  You  want  to  ask  a 
question  about  Hugh  O'Donnell.  "  Is  it  Patrick's  Hugh 
or  Mickey's  Hugh  or  Sean's  Hugh?  "  you  will  be  asked. 
So  too  in  the  Glen  you  never  say  Mrs.  when  speaking 
of  a  married  woman.  It  is  just  "  Farley's  Brigid " 
or  "  Patrick's  Norah "  or  "  Cormac's  Ellen,"  as  the 
case  may  be.  There  was  one  woman  in  Glenmornan 
who  had  a  little  boy  of  about  my  age,  and  she  seldom 
spoke  to  anybody  on  the  road  to  chapel  or  market. 
Everyone  seemed  to  avoid  her,  and  the  old  people  called 
her  "  that  woman,"  and  they  often  spoke  about  her  doings. 
She  had  never  a  man  of  her  own,  they  said.  Of  course  I 


io    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

didn't  understand  these  things,  but  I  knew  there  was  a 
great  difference  in  being  called  somebody's  Mary  or  Norah 
instead  of  "  that  woman." 

On  St.  Stephen's  Day  the  Glenmornan  boys  beat  the 
bushes  and  killed  as  many  wrens  as  they  could  lay  their 
hands  on.  The  wren  is  a  bad  bird,  for  it  betrayed  St. 
Stephen  to  the  Jews  when  they  wanted  to  put  him  to  death. 
The  saint  hid  in  a  clump  of  bushes,  but  the  wrens  made  such 
a  chatter  and  clatter  that  the  Jews,  when  passing,  stopped 
to  see  what  annoyed  the  birds,  and  found  the  saint  hiding 
in  the  undergrowth.  No  wonder  then  that  the  Glenmornan 
people  have  a  grudge  against  the  wren  ! 

Kissing  is  almost  unknown  in  the  place  where  I  was  born 
and  bred.  Judas  betrayed  the  Son  of  God  with  a  kiss, 
which  proves  beyond  a  doubt  that  kissing  is  of  the  devil's 
making.  It  is  no  harm  to  kiss  the  dead  in  Glenmornan, 
for  no  one  can  do  any  harm  to  the  dead. 

Once  I  got  bitten  by  a  dog.  The  animal  snapped  a  piece 
of  flesh  from  my  leg  and  ate  it  when  he  got  out  of  the  way. 
When  I  came  into  my  own  house  my  father  and  mother  were 
awfully  frightened.  If  three  hairs  of  the  dog  that  bit  me 
were  not  placed  against  the  sore  I  would  go  mad  before 
seven  moons  had  faded.  Oiney  Dinchy,  who  owned  the 
dog,  would  not  give  me  three  hairs  because  I  was  unfortunate 
enough  to  be  stealing  apples  when  the  dog  rushed  at  me. 
For  all  that  it  mattered  to  Oiney,  I  might  go  as  mad  as  a 
March  hare.  The  priest,  when  informed  of  the  trouble, 
blessed  salt  which  he  told  my  father  to  place  on  the  wound. 
My  father  did  so,  but  the  salt  pained  me  so  much  that  I 
rushed  screaming  from  the  house.  The  next  door  neigh- 
bours ran  into  their  homes  and  closed  their  doors  when  they 
heard  me  scream.  Two  little  girls  were  coming  to  our  house 
for  the  loan  of  a  half-bottle  of  holy  water  for  a  sick  cow, 
and  when  they  saw  me  rush  out  they  fled  hurriedly, 
shrieking  that  I  was  already  mad  from  the  bite  of  Oiney 


OLD  CUSTOMS  IT 

Dinchy's  dog.  When  Oiney  heard  this  he  got  frightened 
and  he  gave  my  father  three  hairs  of  the  dog  with  a  civil 
hand.  I  placed  them  on  my  sore,  the  dog  was  hung  by  a 
rope  from  the  branch  of  a  tree,  and  the  madness  was  kept 
away  from  me.  I  hear  that  nowadays  in  Glenmornan  the 
people  never  apply  the  holy  salt  to  the  bite  of  a  dog.  Thus 
do  old  customs  change. 

The  six-hand  reel  is  a  favourite  Glenmornan  dance,  but  in 
my  time  a  new  parish  priest  came  along  who  did  not  approve 
of  dancing.  "  The  six-hand  reel  is  a  circle,  the  centre  of 
which  is  the  devil,"  said  he,  and  called  a  house  in  which 
a  dance  was  held  the  "  Devil's  Station."  He  told  the  people 
to  cease  dancing,  but  they  would  not  listen  to  him.  "  When 
we  get  a  new  parish  priest  we  don't  want  a  new  God,"  they 
said.  "  The  old  God  who  allowed  dancing  is  good  enough 
for  us."  The  priest  put  the  seven  curses  on  the  people 
who  said  these  words.  I  only  know  three  of  the  seven 
curses. 

May  you  have  one  leg  and  it  to  be  halting. 
May  you  have  one  eye  and  it  to  be  squinting 
May  you  have  one  tooth  and  it  to  be  aching. 

The  second  curse  fell  on  one  man — old  Oiney  Dinchy,  who 
had  a  light  foot  on  a  good  floor.  When  tying  a  restive 
cow  in  the  byre,  the  animal  caught  Oiney  in  the  ball  of  one 
eye  with  the  point  of  its  horn,  and  Oiney  could  only  see 
through  the  other  eye  afterwards.  The  people  when  they 
saw  this  feared  the  new  parish  priest,  but  they  never  took 
any  heed  to  the  new  God,  and  up  to  this  day  there  are  many 
good  six-hand  reelers  in  Glenmornan.  And  the  priest  is 
dead. 

The  parish  priest  who  came  in  his  place  was  a  little  pot- 
bellied man  with  white  shiny  false  teeth,  who  smoked 
ninepenny  cigars  and  who  always  travelled  first-class  in  a 
railway  train.  Everybody  feared  him  because  he  put 
curses  on  most  of  the  people  in  Glenmornan  ;  and  usually 


12    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

on  the  people  whom  I  thought  best  in  the  world.  Those 
whom  I  did  not  like  at  all  became  great  friends  of  the  priest. 
I  always  left  the  high-road  when  I  saw  him  coming.  His 
name  was  Father  Devaney,  and  he  was  eternally  looking 
for  money  from  the  people,  who,  although  very  poor, 
always  paid  when  the  priest  commanded  them.  If  they 
did  not  they  would  go  to  hell  as  soon  as  they  died.  So 
Father  Devaney  said. 

A  stranger  in  Glenmornan  should  never  talk  about  crows. 
The  people  of  the  Glen  are  nicknamed  the  "  Crow  Chasers," 
because  once  in  the  bad  days,  the  days  of  the  potato  failure, 
they  chased  for  ten  long  hours  a  crow  that  had  stolen  a 
potato,  and  took  back  the  potato  at  night  in  triumph. 
This  has  been  cast  up  in  their  teeth  ever  since,  and  it  is  an 
ill  day  for  a  stranger  when  he  talks  about  crows  to  the 
Glenmornan  people. 

Courtship  is  unknown  in  Glenmornan.  When  a  young 
man  takes  it  in  his  head  to  marry,  he  goes  out  in  company 
with  a  friend  and  a  bottle  of  whisky  and  looks  for  a  woman. 
If  one  refuses,  the  young  man  looks  for  another  and  another 
until  the  bottle  of  whisky  is  consumed.  The  friend  talks 
to  the  girl's  father  and  lays  great  stress  upon  the  merits 
of  the  would-be  husband,  who  meanwhile  pleads  his  suit 
with  the  girl.  Sometimes  a  young  man  empties  a  dozen 
bottles  of  whisky  before  he  can  persuade  a  woman  to  marry 
him. 

In  my  own  house  we  had  flesh  meat  to  dinner  four  times 
each  year,  on  St.  Patrick's  Day,  Easter  Sunday,  Christmas 
Day,  and  New  Year's  Day.  If  the  harvest  had  been  a  good 
one  we  took  bacon  with  our  potatoes  at  the  ingathering  of 
the  hay.  Ours  was  a  hay  harvest ;  we  grew  very  little  corn. 

Of  all  the  seasons  of  the  year  I  liked  the  harvest-time 
best.  Looking  from  the  door  of  my  father's  house  I 
had  the  whole  of  Glenmornan  under  my  eyes.  Far  down 
the  Glen  the  road  wound  in  and  out,  now  on  one  side  of  the 


OLD  CUSTOMS  13 

river  and  now  on  the  other,  running  away  to  the  end  of 
Ireland,  and  for  all  that  I  knew,  maybe  to  the  end  of  the 
world  itself. 

The  river  came  from  the  hills,  tumbling  over  rocks  in 
showers  of  fine  white  mist  and  forming  into  deep  pools 
beneath,  where  it  rested  calmly  after  its  mad  race.  Here 
the  trout  leaped  all  day,  and  turned  the  placid  surface  into 
millions  of  petulant  ripples  which  broke  like  waves  under 
the  hazel  bushes  that  shaded  the  banks.  In  the  fords 
further  along  the  heavy  milch  cows  stood  belly-deep  in 
the  stream,  seeking  relief  from  the  madness  that  the  heat 
and  the  gad-flies  put  into  their  blood. 

The  young  cattle  grazed  on  the  braes,  keeping  well  in 
the  shadow  of  the  cliffs,  while  from  the  hill  above  the  moun- 
tain-sheep followed  one  another  in  single  file,  as  is  their 
wont,  down  to  the  lower  and  sweeter  pastures. 

The  mowers  were  winding  their  scythes  in  long  heavy 
sweeps  through  the  meadow  in  the  bottomlands,  and  rows 
of  mown  hay  lay  behind  them.  Even  where  I  stood,  far 
up,  I  could  hear  the  sharp  swish  of  their  scythes  as  they  cut 
through  the  bottom  grass. 

The  young  maidens,  their  legs  bare  well  above  their 
knees,  tramped  linen  at  the  brookside  and  laughed  merrily 
at  every  joke  that  passed  between  them. 

The  neighbours  spoke  to  one  another  across  the  march 
ditches,  and  their  talk  was  of  the  weather  and  the  progress 
of  the  harvest. 

The  farmer  boy  could  be  seen  going  to  the  moor  for  a 
load  of  peat,  his  creel  swinging  in  a  careless  way  across  his 
shoulders  and  his  hands  deep  in  his  trousers'  pockets.  He 
was  barefooted,  and  the  brown  moss  was  all  over  the  calves 
of  his  legs.  He  was  thinking  of  something  as  he  walked 
along  and  he  looked  well  in  his  torn  shirt  and  old  hat. 
Many  a  time  I  wondered  what  were  the  thoughts  which 
tilled  his  mind. 


14    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

Now  and  again  a  traveller  passed  along  the  road,  looking 
very  tired  as  he  dragged  his  legs  after  him.  His  hob-nailed 
boots  made  a  rasping  sound  on  the  grey  gravel,  and  it  was 
hard  to  tell  where  he  was  going. 

One  day  a  drover  passed  along,  driving  his  herd  of  wild- 
eyed,  panting  bullocks  before  him.  He  was  a  little  man  and 
he  carried  a  heavy  cudgel  of  a  stick  in  his  hands.  I  went 
out  to  the  road  to  see  him  passing  and  also  to  speak  to  him 
if  he  took  any  notice  of  a  little  fellow. 

"  God's  blessing  be  on  every  beast  under  your  care,"  I 
said,  repeating  the  words  which  my  mother  always  said 
to  the  drovers  which  she  met.  "  Is  it  any  harm  to  ask  you 
where  you  are  going  ?  " 

"  I'm  goin'  to  the  fair  of  'Derry,"  said  he. 

"Is  'Deny  fair  as  big  as  the  fair  of  Greenanore,good  man?" 

He  laughed  at  my  question,  and  I  could  see  his  teeth 
black  with  tobacco  juice.  "  Greenanore  !  "  he  exclaimed. 
"  'Derry  fair  is  a  million  times  bigger." 

Of  course  I  didn't  believe  him,  for  had  I  not  been  at  the 
harvest-fair  of  Greenanore  myself,  and  I  thought  that  there 
could  be  nothing  greater  in  all  the  seven  corners  of  the 
world.  But  it  was  in  my  world  and  I  knew  more  of  the 
bigger  as  the  years  went  on. 

In  those  days  the  world,  to  me,  meant  something  intan- 
gible, which  lay  beyond  the  farthest  blue  line  of  mountains 
which  could  be  seen  from  Glenmornan  Hill.  And  those 
mountains  were  ever  so  far  away !  How  many  snug  little 
houses,  white  under  their  coatings  of  cockle  lime,  how 
many  wooden  bridges  spanning  hurrying  streams,  and 
how  many  grey  roads  crossing  brown  moors  lay  between 
Glenmornan  Hill  and  the  last  blue  line  of  mountain  tops 
that  looked  over  into  the  world  for  which  I  longed  with 
all  the  wistfulness  of  youth,  I  did  not  know. 


CHAPTER    III 

A  CORSICAN   OUTRAGE 

"  When  brown  trout  leap  in  ev'ry  burn,  when  hares  are  scooting  on 

the  brae, 
When  rabbits  frisk  where  e'er  you  turn,  'tis  sad  to  waste  your  hours 

away 
Within  bald  Learning's  droning  hive  with  pen  and  pencil,  rod  and 

rule — 
Oh  !   the  unhappiest  soul  alive  is  oft  a  little  lad  at  school." 

— From  The  Man  who  Met  the  Scholars. 

I  DID  not  like  school.  My  father  could  neither  read 
nor  write,  and  he  didn't  trouble  much  about  my 
education. 

The  priest  told  him  to  send  me  to  the  village  school,  and 
I  was  sent  accordingly. 

"  The  priest  should  know  what  is  best,"  my  father  said. 

The  master  was  a  little  man  with  a  very  large  stomach. 
He  was  short  of  breath,  and  it  was  very  funny  to  hear  him 
puffing  on  a  very  warm  day,  when  the  sweat  ran  down  his 
face  and  wetted  his  collar.  The  people  about  thought  that  he 
was  very  wise,  and  said  that  he  could  talk  .a  lot  of  wisdom 
if  he  were  not  so  short  of  breath.  Whenever  he  sat  by  the 
school  fire  he  fell  asleep.  Everyone  said  that  though  very 
wise  the  man  was  very  lazy.  When  he  got  to  his  feet  after 
a  sleep  he  went  about  the  schoolroom  grunting  like  a  sick 
cow.  For  the  first  six  months  at  school  I  felt  frightened 
of  him,  after  that  I  disliked  him.  He  beat  me  about  three 
times  a  day.  He  cut  hazel  rods  on  his  way  to  school,  and 
used  them  every  five  minutes  when  not  asleep.  Nearly 
all  the  scholars  cried  whenever  they  were  beaten,  but  I 


16    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

never  did.  I  think  this  was  one  of  his  strongest  reasons 
for  hating  me  more  than  any  of  the  rest.  I  learned  very 
slowly,  and  never  could  do  my  sums  correctly,  but  I  liked 
to  read  the  poems  in  the  more  advanced  books  and  could 
recite  Childe  Harold's  Farewell  when  only  in  the  second 
standard. 

When  I  was  ten  years  of  age  I  left  school,  being  then 
only  in  the  third  book.  This  was  the  way  of  it.  One 
day,  when  pointing  out  places  on  the  map  of  the  world, 
the  master  came  round,  and  the  weather  being  hot  the 
man  was  in  a  bad  temper. 

"  Point  out  Corsica,  Dermod  Flynn,"  he  said. 

I  had  not  the  least  idea  as  to  what  part  of  the  world 
Corsica  occupied,  and  I  stood  looking  awkwardly  at  the 
master  and  the  map  in  turn.  I  think  that  he  enjoyed  my 
discomfited  expression,  for  he  gazed  at  me  in  silence  for  a 
long  while. 

"  Dermod  Flynn,  point  out  Corsica,"  he  repeated. 

"  I  don't  know  where  it  is,"  I  answered  sullenly. 

"  I'll  teach  you  !  "  he  roared,  getting  hold  of  my  ear 
and  pulling  it  sharply.  The  pain  annoyed  me ;  I  got 
angry  and  hardly  was  aware  of  what  I  was  doing.  I  just 
saw  his  eyes  glowering  into  mine.  I  raised  the  pointer 
over  my  head  and  struck  him  right  across  the  face.  Then 
a  red  streak  ran  down  the  side  of  his  nose  and  it  frightened 
me  to  see  it. 

"  Dermod  Flynn  has  killed  the  master !  "  cried  a  little 
girl  whose  name  was  Norah  Ryan  and  who  belonged  to 
the  same  class  as  myself. 

I  was  almost  certain  that  I  had  murdered  him,  for  he 
dropped  down  on  the  form  by  the  wall  without  speaking 
a  word  and  placed  both  his  hands  over  his  face.  For  a 
wee  bit  I  stood  looking  at  him  ;  then  I  caught  up  my 
cap  and- rushed  out  of  the  school. 

Next  day,  had  it  not  been  for  the  red  mark  on  his  face, 


A  CORSICAN  OUTRAGE  17 

the  master  was  as  well  as  ever.  But  I  never  went  back 
to  school  again.  My  father  did  not  believe  much  in  book 
learning,  so  he  sent  me  out  to  work  for  the  neighbours 
who  required  help  at  the  seed-time  or  harvest.  Sixpence 
a  day  was  my  wages,  and  the  work  in  the  fields  was  more 
to  my  liking  than  the  work  at  the  school. 

Whenever  I  passed  the  scholars  on  the  road  afterwards 
they  said  to  one  another :  "  Just  think  of  it !  Dermod 
Flynn  struck  the  master  across  the  face  when  he  was  at 
the  school." 

Always  I  felt  very  proud  of  my  action  when  I  heard 
them  say  that.  It  was  a  great  thing  for  a  boy  of  my  age  to 
stand  up  on  his  feet  and  strike  a  man  who  was  four  times 
his  age.  Even  the  young  men  spoke  of  my  action  and,  what 
was  more,  they  praised  my  courage.  They  had  been  at 
school  themselves  and  they  did  not  like  the  experience. 

Nowadays,  whenever  I  look  at  Corsica  on  the  map,  I 
think  of  old  Master  Diver  and  the  days  I  spent  under  him 
in  the  little  Glenmornan  schoolhouse. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  GREAT  SILENCE 

"  Where  the  people  toil  like  beasts  in  the  field  till  their  bones  are 

strained  and  sore, 
There  the  landlord  waits,  like  the  plumbless  grave,  calling  out 

for  more 

Money  to  flounce  his  daughters'  gowns  or  clothe  his  spouse's  hide, 
Money  so  that  his  sons  can  learn  to  gamble,  shoot,  and  ride  ; 
And  for  every  debt  of  honour  paid  and  for  every  dress  and 

frill, 
The  blood  of  the  peasant's  wife  and  child  goes  out  to  meet  the 

bill." 

— From  The  Song  of  the  Glen  People. 

I  WAS  nearly  twelve  years  old  when  Dan,  my  youngest 
brother,  died.    It  was  in  the  middle  of  winter,  and 
he  was  building  a  snow-man  in  front  of  the  half- 
door  when   he   suddenly  complained  of  a   pain  in    his 
throat.    Mother  put  him  to  bed  and  gave  him  a  drink  of 
hot  milk.    She  did  not  send  for  the  doctor  because  there 
was  no  money  in  the  house  to  pay  the  bill.    Dan  lay  in 
bed  all  the  evening  and  man}'  of  the  neighbours  came  in 
to  see  him.     Towards  midnight  I  was  sent  to  bed,  but 
before  going  I  heard  my  father  ask  mother  if  she  thought 
that  Dan  would  live  till  morning.    I  could  not  sleep,  but 
kept  turning  over  in  the  bed  and  praying  to  the  Blessed 
Virgin  to  save  my  little  brother.    The  new  moon,  sharp 
as  a  scythe,  was  peeping  through  the  window  of  my  room 
when  my  mother  came  to  my  bed  and  told  me  to  rise  and 
kiss  Dan  for  the  last  time.    She  turned  her  face  away  as 
she  spoke,  and  I  knew  that  she  was  weeping.    My  brother 
was  lying  on  the  bed,  gazing  up  at  the  ceiling  with  wide- 


THE   GREAT   SILENCE  19 

staring  eyes.  A  crimson  flush  was  on  his  face  and  his 
breath  pained  him.  I  bent  down  and  pressed  his  cheek. 
I  was  afraid,  and  the  kiss  made  my  lips  burn  like  fire.  The 
three  of  us  then  stood  together  and  my  father  shook  the 
holy  water  all  over  the  room.  All  at  once  Dan  sat  up  in 
the  bed  and  gripped  a  tight  hold  of  the  blankets.  I 
wanted  to  run  out  of  the  room  but  my  mother  would  not 
let  me. 

"  Are  ye  wantin'  anything  ?  "  asked  my  father,  bending 
over  the  bed,  but  there  was  no  answer.  My  brother  fell 
back  on  the  bed  and  his  face  got  very  white. 

"  Poor  Dan  is  no  more,"  said  my  father,  the  tears  coming 
out  of  his  eyes.  'Twas  the  first  time  I  ever  saw  him  weeping, 
and  I  thought  it  very  strange.  My  mother  went  to  the 
window  and  opened  it  in  order  to  let  the  soul  of  my  brother 
go  away  to  heaven. 

"  It  is  all  in  the  hands  of  God,"  she  said.  "  He  is  only 
taking  back  what  He  sent  us." 

There  was  silence  in  the  room  for  a  long  while.  My 
father  and  mother  wept,  and  I  was  afraid  of  something 
which  was  beyond  my  understanding. 

"  Will  Dan  ever  come  back  again  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Hush,  dearie  !  "  said  my  mother. 

"  It  will  take  a  lot  of  money  to  bury  the  poor  boy," 
said  my  father.  "  It  costs  a  good  penny  to  rear  one,  but 
it's  a  bad  job  when  one  is  taken  away." 

I  had  once  seen  an  old  woman  buried — "  Old  Nan,"  the 
beggarwoman.  For  many  years  she  had  passed  up  and 
down  Glenmornan  Road,  collecting  bottles  and  rags,  which 
she  paid  for  in  blessings  and  afterwards  sold  for  pence. 
Being  wrinkled,  heavy-boned,  and  bearded  like  a  man, 
everyone  said  that  she  was  a  witch.  One  summer  Old 
Nan  died,  and  two  days  later  she  was  carried  to  the  little 
graveyard.  I  played  truant  from  school  and  followed  the 
sweating  men  who  were  carrying  the  coffin  on  their 


20    CHILDREN   OF  THE   DEAD  END 

shoulders.  They  seemed  to  be  well-pleased  when  they 
came  in  sight  of  the  churchyard  and  the  cold  silent  tomb- 
stones. 

"  The  old  witch  was  as  heavy  as  lead,"  I  heard  the 
bearers  say. 

They  set  down  their  burden  and  dug  a  hole  in  the  soft 
earth,  throwing  up  black  clay  and  white  bones  to  the 
surface  with  their  shovels.  The  bones  looked  like  those  of 
sheep  which  die  on  the  hills  and  are  left  to  rot.  The  air 
was  heavy  with  the  humming  of  bees,  and  a  little  brook 
sang  a  soft  song  of  its  own  as  it  hurried  past  the  graveyard 
wall.  The  upturned  earth  had  a  sickly  smell  like  mildewed 
corn.  Some  of  the  diggers  knew  whose  bone  this  was  and 
whose  that  was,  but  they  had  a  hard  argument  about  a 
thigh-bone  before  Old  Nan  was  put  into  the  earth.  Some 
said  that  the  thigh-bone  belonged  to  old  Farley  Kelly,  who 
had  died  many  years  before,  and  others  said  that  it  belonged 
to  Farley's  wife.  I  thought  it  a  curious  thing  that  people 
could  not  know  the  difference  between  a  man  and  a  woman 
when  dead.  While  the  men  were  discussing  the  thigh- 
bone it  was  left  lying  on  the  black  clay  which  fringed  the 
mouth  of  the  grave,  and  a  long  earth-worm  crawled  across 
it.  A  man  struck  at  the  worm  with  his  spade  and  broke 
the  bone  into  three  pieces.  The  worm  was  cut  in  two,  and 
it  fell  back  into  the  grave  while  one  of  the  diggers  threw 
the  splinters  of  bone  on  top  of  it.  Then  they  buried  Old 
Nan,  and  everyone  seemed  very  light-hearted  over  the  job. 
Why  shouldn't  they  feel  merry  ?  She  was  only  an  old 
witch,  anyhow.  But  I  did  not  feel  happy.  The  grave 
looked  a  cold  cheerless  place  and  the  long  crawling  worms 
were  ugly. 

So  our  poor  Dan  would  go  down  into  the  dark  earth 
like  Old  Nan,  the  witch  !  The  thought  frightened  me,  and 
I  began  to  cry  with  my  father  and  mother,  and  we  were 
all  three  weeping  still,  but  more  quietly,  when  the  first 


THE   GREAT  SILENCE  21 

dim  light  of  the  lonely  dawn  came  stealing  through  the 
window  panes. 

Two  old  sisters,  Martha  and  Bride,  lived  next  door. 
My  mother  asked  me  to  go  out  and  tell  them  about  Dan's 
death.  I  ran  out  quickly,  and  I  found  both  women  up  and 
at  work  washing  dishes  beside  the  dresser.  Martha  had  a 
tin  basin  in  her  hand,  and  she  let  it  drop  to  the  floor  when 
I  delivered  my  message.  Bride  held  a  jug,  and  it  seemed 
for  a  moment  that  she  was  going  to  follow  her  sister's 
example,  but  all  at  once  she  called  to  mind  that  the  jug 
was  made  of  delft,  so  she  placed  it  on  the  dresser,  and  both 
followed  me  back  to  my  home.  Once  there  they  asked 
many  questions  about  Dan,  his  sickness  and  how  he  came 
to  die.  When  they  had  heard  all,  they  told  of  several 
herbs  and  charms  which  would  have  cured  the  illness  at 
once.  Dandelion  dipped  in  rock  water,  or  bogbine*  boiled 
for  two  hours  in  the  water  of  the  marsh  from  which  it  was 
plucked,  would  have  worked  wonders.  Also  seven  drops 
of  blood  from  a  cock  that  never  crowed,  or  the  boiled  liver 
of  a  rabbit  that  never  crossed  a  white  road,  were  the  very 
best  things  to  give  to  a  sick  person.  So  they  said,  and 
when  Bride  tried  to  recollect  some  more  certain  cures 
Martha  kept  repeating  the  old  ones  until  I  was  almost 
tired  of  listening  to  her  voice. 

"  Why  did  ye  not  take  in  the  docthor  ?  "  asked  Martha. 

"  We  had  no  money  in  the  house,"  said  my  mother. 

"  An'  did  ye  not  sell  half  a  dozen  sheep  at  the  fair  the 
day  afore  yesterday  ?  "  asked  Bride.  "  I'm  sure  that  ye 
got  a  good  penny  for  them  same  sheep." 

"  We  did  that,"  said  my  mother ;  "  but  the  money  is 
for  the  landlord's  rent  and  the  priest's  tax." 

At  that  time  the  new  parish  priest,  the  little  man  with 
the  pot-belly  and  the  shiny  false  teeth,  was  building  a 
grand  new  house.    Farley  McKeown  had  given  five  hundred 
*  Marsh  trefoil. 


22    CHILDREN   OF  THE  DEAD  END 

pounds  towards  the  cost  of  building,  which  up  to  now 
amounted  to  one  thousand  five  hundred  pounds.  So  the 
people  said,  but  they  were  not  quite  sure.  The  cost  of 
building  was  not  their  business,  that  was  the  priest's  ;  all 
the  people  had  to  do  was  to  pay  their  tax,  which  amounted 
to  five  pounds  on  every  family  in  the  parish.  They  were 
allowed  five  years  in  which  to  pay  it.  On  two  occasions 
my  father  was  a  month  late  in  paying  the  money  and  the 
priest  put  a  curse  on  him  each  time.  So  my  father  said. 
I  have  only  a  very  faint  recollection  of  these  things 
which  took  place  when  I  was  quite  a  little  boy. 

"  God  be  good  to  us  !  but  five  pounds  is  a  heavy  tax 
for  even  a  priest  to  put  on  poor  people,"  said  Bride. 

"  It's  not  for  us  to  say  anything  against  a  priest,  no 
matter  what  he  does,"  said  my  father,  crossing  himself. 

"  I  don't  care  what  ye  say,  Michael  Flynn,"  said  the  old 
woman  ;  "  five  pounds  is  a  big  tax  to  pay.  The  priest 
is  spending  three  hundred  gold  sovereigns  in  making  a 
lava-thury  (lavatory).  Three  hundred  sovereigns  !  that's 
a  waste  of  money." 

"  Lava-thury  ?  "  said  my  mother.  "  And  what  would 
that  be  at  all  ?  " 

"  It's  myself  that  does  not  know,"  answered  Bride. 
"  But  old  Oiney  Dinchy  thinks  that  it  is  a  place  for  keeping 
holy  water." 

"  Poor  wee  Dan,"  said  Martha,  looking  at  the  white 
face  in  the  bed.  "  It's  the  hard  way  that  death  has  with 
it  always.  He  was  a  lively  boy  only  three  days  ago. 
Wasn't  it  then  that  he  came  over  to  our  house  and  tied 
the  dog's  tail  to  the  bundle  of  yarn  that  just  came  from 
Farley  McKeown's.  I  was  angry  with  the  dear  little 
rascal,  too  ;  God  forgive  me  !  " 

Then  Martha  and  Bride  began  to  cry  together,  one 
keeping  time  with  the  other,  but  when  my  mother  got  ready 
some  tea  they  sat  down  and  drank  a  great  deal  of  it. 


THE   GREAT  SILENCE  23 

A  great  number  of  neighbours  came  in  during  the  day. 
They  all  said  prayers  by  Dan's  bedside,  then  they  drank 
whisky  and  tea  and  smoked  my  father's  tobacco.  For 
two  nights  my  dead  brother  was  waked.  Every  day  fresh 
visitors  came,  and  for  these  my  father  had  to  buy  extra 
food,  snuff,  and  tobacco,  so  that  the  little  money  in  his 
possession  was  sliding  through  his  fingers  like  water  in  a 
sieve. 

On  the  day  of  the  funeral  Dan  went  to  the  grave  in  a 
little  deal  box  which  my  father  himself  fashioned.  They 
would  not  let  me  go  and  see  the  burial. 

In  the  evening  when  my  parents  came  back  their  eyes 
were  red  as  fire  and  they  were  still  crying.  We  sat  round 
the  peat  blaze  and  Dan's  stool  was  left  vacant.  We  ex- 
pected that  he  would  return  at  any  moment.  We  chil- 
dren could  not  understand  the  strange  silent  thing  called 
Death.  The  oil  lamp  was  not  lighted.  There  was  no  money 
in  the  house  to  pay  for  oil. 

"  There's  very  little  left  now,"  said  my  mother  late 
that  night,  as  I  was  turning  in  to  bed.  She  was  speaking 
to  my  father.  "  Wasn't  there  big  offerings  ?  "  she 
asked. 

Everybody  who  comes  to  a  Catholic  funeral  in  Donegal 
pays  a  shilling  to  the  priest  who  conducts  the  burial  service, 
and  the  nearest  blood  relation  always  pays  five  shillings, 
and  is  asked  to  give  more  if  he  can  afford  it.  Money  lifted 
thus  is  known  as  offerings,  and  all  goes  to  the  priest,  who 
takes  in  hand  to  shorten  the  sufferings  of  the  souls  in 
Purgatory. 

"  Eight  pounds  nine  shillings,"  said  my  father.  "  It's 
a  big  penny.  The  priest  was  talking  to  me,  and  says  that 
he  wants  another  pound  for  his  new  house  at  once.  I'm 
over  three  weeks  behind,  and  if  he  puts  a  curse  on  me 
this  time  what  am  I  to  do  at  all,  at  all  ?  " 

"  What  you  said  is  the  only  thing  to  be  done,"  my 


24    CHILDREN    OF  THE  DEAD  END 

mother  said.  I  did  not  understand  what  these  words 
meant,  and  I  was  afraid  to  ask  a  question. 

"It's  the  only  thing  to  be  done,"  she  remarked  again, 
and  after  that  there  was  a  long  silence. 

"  Dermod,  asthor  *  !  "  she  said  all  at  once.  "  Come 
next  May,  ye  must  go  beyont  the  mountains  to  push  yer 
fortune,  pay  the  priest,  and  make  up  the  rent  for  the 
Hallow  E'en  next  coming." 

*  Darling. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   SLAVE  MARKET 

"  My  mother's  love  for  me  is  warm, 

Her  house  is  cold  and  bare, 
A  man  who  wants  to  see  the  world 

Has  little  comfort  there; 
And  there  'tis  hard  to  pay  the  rent, 

For  all  you  dig  and  delve, 
But  there's  hope  beyond  the  Mountains 
For  a  little  Man  of  Twelve." 

— From  The  Man  of  Twelve. 

WHEN  the  following  May  came  round,  I  had  been 
working  at  the  turnip-thinning  with  a  neigh- 
bouring man,  and  one  evening  I  came  back 
to  my  own  home  in  the  greyness  of  the  soft  dusk. 
It  had  been  a  long  day's  work,  from  seven  in  the 
morning  to  nine  of  the  clock  at  night.  A  boy  can  never 
have  too  much  time  to  himself  and  too  little  to  do,  but 
I  was  kept  hard  at  work  always,  and  never  had  a  moment 
to  run  about  the  lanes  or  play  by  the  burns  with  other 
children.  Indeed,  I  did  not  care  very  much  for  the  company 
of  boys  of  my  own  age.  Because  I  was  strong  for  my 
years  I  despised  them,  and  in  turn  I  was  despised  by  the 
youths  who  were  older  than  myself.  "  Too-long-for-your- 
trousers  "  they  called  me,  and  I  believe  that  I  merited 
the  nickname,  for  I  wished  ever  so  much  to  grow  up 
quickly  and  be  able  to  carry  a  creel  of  peat  like  Jim  Scanlon, 
or  drive  a  horse  and  cart  with  Ned  O'Donnel,  who  lived 
next  door  but  one  to  my  father's  house. 
Sometimes  I  would  go  out  for  a  walk  with  these  two 


26    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

men  on  a  Sunday  afternoon,  that  is,  if  they  allowed  me  to 
accompany  them.  I  listened  eagerly  to  every  word  spoken 
by  them  and  used  to  repeat  their  remarks  aloud  to  myself 
afterwards.  Sometimes  I  would  speak  like  them  in  my 
own  home. 

"  Isn't  it  a  shame  the  way  Connel  Diver  of  the  hill 
treats  his  wife,"  I  said  to  my  father  and  mother  one  day. 
"  He  goes  out  in  the  evening  and  courts  Widow  Breslin 
when  he  should  stay  at  home  with  his  own  woman." 

"  Dermod,  asthor  !  What  puts  them  ideas  into  yer 
head  ?  "  asked  my  mother.  "  What  d'ye  know  abot 
Connel  Diver  and  the  Widow  Breslin  ?  " 

"  It's  them  two  vagabonds,  Micky's  Jim  and  Dinchy's 
Ned,  that's  tellin'  him  these  things,"  said  my  father  ; 
"  but  let  me  never  catch  him  goin'  out  of  the  door  with 
any  of  the  pair  of  them  again." 

Whatever  was  the  reason  of  it,  I  liked  the  company  of 
the  two  youths  a  great  deal  more  afterwards. 

On  this  May  evening,  as  I  was  saying,  I  came  back 
from  the  day's  work  and  found  my  mother  tying  all  my 
spare  clothes  into  a  large  brown  handkerchief. 

"  Ye're  goin'  away  beyont  the  mountains  in  the  mornin', 
Dermod,"  she  said.  "  Ye  have  to  go  out  and  push  yer 
fortune.  We  must  get  some  money  to  pay  the  rent  come 
Hallow  E'en,  and  as  ye'll  get  a  bigger  penny  workin'  with 
the  farmers  away  there,  me  and  yer  da  have  thought  of 
sendin'  ye  to  the  hirin'-fair  of  Strabane  on  the  morra." 

I  had  been  dreaming  of  this  journey  for  months  before, 
and  I  never  felt  happier  in  all  my  life  than  I  did  when  my 
mother  spoke  these  words.  I  clapped  my  hands  with  pure 
joy,  danced  in  front  of  the  door,  and  threw  my  cap  into  the 
air. 

"  Are  ye  not  sorry  at  leavin'  home  ?  "  my  mother  asked, 
and  from  her  manner  of  speaking  I  knew  that  she  was  not 
pleased  to  see  me  so  happy. 


THE   SLAVE  MARKET  27 

"  What  would  I  be  sorry  for  ?  "  I  asked,  and  ran  off  to 
tell  Micky's  Jim  about  the  journey  which  lay  before  me 
the  next  morning.  Didn't  I  feel  proud,  too,  when  Micky's 
Jim,  who  had  spent  many  seasons  at  the  potato  digging 
in  Scotland,  shook  hands  with  me  just  the  same  as  if  I  had 
been  a  full-grown  man.  Indeed,  I  felt  that  I  was  a  man 
when  I  returned  to  my  own  doorstep  and  saw  the  prepara- 
tions that  were  being  made  for  my  departure.  Everyone 
was  hard  at  work,  my  sisters  sewing  buttons  on  my  clothes, 
my  mother  putting  a  new  string  in  the  Medal  of  the  Sacred 
Heart  which  I  had  to  wear  around  my  neck  when  far  away 
from  her  keeping,  and  my  father  hammering  nails  into  my 
boots  so  that  they  would  last  me  through  the  whole  summer 
and  autumn. 

That  night  when  we  were  on  our  knees  at  the  Rosary, 
I  mumbled  through  my  prayers,  made  a  mistake  in  the 
number  of  Hail  Marys,  and  forgot  several  times  to  respond 
to  the  prayers  of  the  others.  No  one  said  a  word  of  reproof, 
and  I  felt  that  I  had  become  a  very  important  person.  I 
thought  that  my  mother  wept  during  the  prayers,  but  of 
this  I  was  not  quite  certain. 

"  Rise  up,  Dermod,"  said  my  mother,  touching  me  on 
the  shoulder  next  morning.  "  The  white  arm  of  the  dawn 
is  stealin'  over  the  door,  and  it  is  time  ye  were  out  on  yer 
journey." 

I.  took  my  breakfast,  but  did  not  feel  very  hungry.  At 
the  last  moment  my  mother  looked  through  my  bundle 
to  see  if  I  had  everything  which  I  needed,  then,  with  my 
father's  blessings  and  my  mother's  prayers,  I  went  out 
from  my  people  in  the  grey  of  the  morning. 

A  pale  mist  was  rising  off  the  braes  as  I  crossed  the 
wooden  bridge  that  lay  between  my  home  and  the  leading 
road  to  Greenanore.  There  was  hardly  a  move  in  the  wind, 
and  the  green  grass  by  the  roadside  was  heavy  with  drops 


28    CHILDREN   OF  THE  DEAD  END 

of  dew.  Under  the  bridge  a  salmon  jumped,  all  at  once, 
breaking  the  pool  into  a  million  strips  of  glancing  water. 
As  I  leant  over  the  rails  I  could  see,  far  down,  a  large 
trout  waving  his  tail  in  slow  easy  sweeps  and  opening  and 
closing  his  mouth  rapidly  as  if  he  was  out  of  breath.  He 
was  almost  the  colour  of  the  sand  on  which  he  was  lying. 

I  stopped  for  a  moment  at  the  bend  of  the  road,  and 
looked  back  at  my  home.  My  father  was  standing  at  the 
door  waving  his  hand,  and  I  saw  my  mother  rub  her  eyes 
with  the  corner  of  her  apron.  I  thought  that  she  was 
crying,  but  I  did  not  trouble  myself  very  much  about  that, 
for  I  knew  women  are  very  fond  of  weeping.  I  waved 
my  hand  over  my  head,  then  I  turned  round  the  corner 
and  went  out  of  their  sight,  feeling  neither  sorry  nor  afraid. 

I  met  Norah  Ryan  on  the  road.  She  had  been  my 
schoolmate,  and  when  we  were  in  the  class  together  I  had 
liked  to  look  at  her  soft  creamy  skin  and  grey  eyes.  She 
always  put  me  in  mind  of  pictures  of  angels  that  were 
hung  on  the  walls  of  the  little  chapel  in  the  village.  Her 
mother  was  going  to  send  her  into  a  convent  when  she  left 
school — so  the  neighbours  said. 

"  Where  are  ye  for  this  morning,  Dennod  Flynn  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"  Beyond  the  mountains,"  I  told  her. 

"  Ye'll  not  come  back  for  a  long  while,  will  ye  ?  " 

I  said  that  I  would  never  come  back,  just  to  see  how 
she  took  it,  and  I  was  very  vexed  when  she  just  laughed 
and  walked  on.  I  felt  sorrier  leaving  her  than  leaving 
anyone  else  whom  I  knew,  and  I  stood  and  looked  back 
after  her  many,  many  times,  but  she  never  turned  even 
to  bid  me  good-bye. 

On  the  road  several  boys  and  girls,  all  bound  for  the 
hiring  market  of  Strabane,  joined  me.  When  we  were  all 
together  there  was  none  amongst  us  over  fourteen  years 
of  age.  The  girls  carried  their  boots  in  their  hands.  They 


THE   SLAVE  MARKET  29 

were  so  used  to  running  barefooted  on  the  moors  that  they 
found  themselves  more  comfortable  walking  along  the 
gritty  road  in  that  manner.  While  journeying  to  the 
station  they  sang  out  bravely,  all  except  one  girl,  who 
was  crying,  but  no  one  paid  very  much  heed  to  her.  A 
boy  of  fourteen  who  was  one  of  the  party  had  been  away 
before.  His  shoulders  were  very  broad,  his  legs  were 
twisted  and  his  body  was  all  awry.  Some  said  that  he  was 
born  in  a  frost  and  that  he  got  slewed  in  a  thaw.  He 
smoked  a  short  clay  pipe  which  he  drew  from  his  mouth 
when  the  girls  started  singing. 

"  Sing  away  now,  ye  will !  "  he  cried.  "  Ye'll  not  sing 
,much  afore  ye're  long  away."  For  all  that  he  was  singing 
louder  than  any  three  of  the  party  himself  before  we 
arrived  at  the  railway  station. 

The  platform  was  crowded.  I  saw  youngsters  who  had 
come  a  distance  of  twelve  miles  and  who  had  been  travelling 
all  night.  They  looked  worn  out  and  sleepy.  With  some 
of  the  children  fathers  and  mothers  came. 

"  We  are  goin'  to  drive  a  hard  bargain  with  the  masters," 
some  of  the  parents  said. 

"  Some  of  them  won't  bring  in  a  good  penny  because 
they're  played  out  on  the  long  tramp  to  the  station,"  said 
others. 

They  meant  no  disrespect  for  their  children,  but  their 
words  put  me  in  mind  of  the  manner  of  speaking  of  drovers 
who  sell  bullocks  at  the  harvest-fair  of  Greenanore. 

There  was  a  rush  for  seats  when  the  train  came  in  and 
nearly  every  carriage  became  crowded  in  an  instant.  There 
were  over  twenty  in  my  compartment,  some  standing,  a 
few  sitting,  but  most  of  us  trying  to  look  out  of  the  win- 
dows. Next  to  us  was  a  first-class  carriage,  and  I  noticed 
that  it  contained  only  one  single  person.  I  had  never 
been  in  a  railway  train  before  and  I  knew  very  little  about 
things. 


30    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

"  Why  is  there  only  one  man  in  there,  while  twenty  of 
us  are  crammed  in  here  ?  "  I  asked  the  boy  with  the  clay 
pipe,  for  he  happened  to  be  beside  me. 

My  friend  looked  at  me  with  the  pride  of  one  who 
knows. 

"  Shure,  ye  know  nothin',"  he  answered.  "  That  man's 
a  gintleman." 

"  I  would  like  to  be  a  gintleman,"  I  said  in  all  simplicity. 

"  Ye  a  gintleman  !  "  roared  the  boy.  "  Ye  haven't  a 
white  shillin'  between  ye  an'  the  world  an'  ye  talk  as  if 
ye  were  a  king.  A  gintleman,  indeed  !  What  put  that 
funny  thought  into  yer  head,  Dermod  Flynn  ?  " 

After  a  while  the  boy  spoke  again. 

"  D'ye  know  who  that  gintleman  is  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  don't  know  at  all,"  I  answered. 

"  That's  the  landlord  who  owns  yer  father's  land  and 
many  a  broad  acre  forbye." 

Then  I  knew  what  a  gentleman  really  was.  He  was 
the  monster  who  grabbed  the  money  from  the  people,  who 
drove  them  out  to  the  roadside,  who  took  six  ears  of  every 
seven  ears  of  corn  produced  by  the  peasantry  ;  the  man 
who  was  hated  by  all  men,  yet  saluted  on  the  highways 
by  most  of  the  people  when  they  met  him.  He  had  taken 
the  money  which  might  have  saved  my  brother's  life,  and 
it  was  on  account  of  him  that  I  had  now  to  set  out  to  the 
Calvary  of  mid-Tyrone.  I  went  out  on  the  platform  again 
and  stole  a  glance  at  the  man.  He  was  small,  thin-lipped, 
and  ugly-looking.  I  did  not  think  much  of  him,  and  I 
wondered  why  the  Glenmornan  people  feared  him  so 
much. 

We  stood  huddled  together  like  sheep  for  sale  in  the 
market-place  of  Strabane.  Over  our  heads  the  town  clock 
rang  out  every  passing  quarter  of  an  hour.  I  had  never 
in  my  life  before  seen  a  clock  so  big.  I  felt  tired  and 


THE  SLAVE  MARKET  31 

placed  my  bundle  on  the  kerbstone  and  sat  down  upon  it. 
A  girl,  one  of  my  own  country-people,  looked  at  me. 

"  Sure,  ye'll  never  get  a  man  to  hire  ye  if  ye're  seen 
sitting  there,"  she  said. 

I  got  up  quickly,  feeling  very  much  ashamed  to  know 
that  a  girl  was  able  to  teach  me  things.  It  wouldn't  have 
mattered  so  much  if  a  boy  had  told  me. 

There  was  great  talk  going  on  about  the  Omagh  train. 
The  boys  who  had  been  sold  at  the  fair  before  said  that 
the  best  masters  came  from  near  the  town  of  Omagh,  and 
so  everyone  waited  eagerly  until  eleven  o'clock,  the  hour 
at  which  the  train  was  due. 

It  was  easy  to  know  when  the  Omagh  men  came,  for 
they  overcrowded  an  already  big  market.  Most  of  them 
were  fat,  angry-looking  fellows,  who  kept  moving  up  and 
down  examining  us  after  the  manner  of  men  who  seek 
out  the  good  and  bad  points  of  horses  which  they  intend 
to  buy. 

Sometimes  they  would  speak  to  each  other,  saying  that 
they  never  saw  such  a  lousy  and  ragged  crowd  of  servants 
in  the  market- place  in  all  their  life  before,  and  they  did 
not  seem  to  care  even  if  we  overheard  them  say  these 
things.  On  the  whole  I  had  no  great  liking  for  the  Omagh 
men. 

A  big  man  with  a  heavy  stomach  came  up  to  me. 

"  How  much  do  ye  want  for  the  six  months  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Six  pounds,"  I  told  him. 

"  Shoulders  too  narrow  for  the  money,"  he  said,  more  to 
himself  than  to  me,  and  walked  on. 

Standing  beside  me  was  an  old  father,  who  had  a  son 
and  daughter  for  sale.  The  girl  looked  pale  and  sickly. 
She  had  a  cough  that  would  split  a  rock. 

"  Arrah,  an'  will  ye  whisth  that  coughin'  !  "  said  her 
brother,  time  and  again.  "  Sure,  ye  know  that  no  wan 
will  give  ye  wages  if  ye  go  on  in  that  way." 


32    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

The  father  never  spoke.  I  suppose  he  felt  that  there 
was  nothing  to  be  said.  During  one  of  these  fits  of  cough- 
ing an  evil-faced  farmer  who  was  looking  for  a  female 
servant  came  around  and  asked  the  old  man  what  wages 
did  he  want  for  his  daughter. 

"  Five  pounds,"  said  the  old  man,  and  there  was  a 
tremble  in  his  voice  when  he  spoke. 

"  And  maybe  the  cost  of  buryin'  her,"  said  the  farmer 
with  a  white  laugh  as  he  passed  on  his  way. 

High  noon  had  just  passed  when  a  youngish  man, 
curiously  old  in  appearance,  stood  in  front  of  me.  His 
shoulders  were  very  broad,  and  one  of  them  was  far  higher 
than  the  other.  His  waist  was  slender  like  a  girl's,  but 
his  buttocks  were  heavy  out  of  all  proportion  to  his  thin 
waist  and  slim  slivers  of  shanks. 

"  Six  pounds !  "  he  repeated  when  I  told  him  what 
wages  I  desired.  "  It's  a  big  penny  to  give  a  wee  man. 
I'll  give  ye  a  five-pound  note  for  the  six  months  and  not 
one  white  sixpence  more." 

He  struck  me  on  the  back  while  he  spoke  as  if  to  test 
the  strength  of  my  spine,  then  ran  his  fingers  over  my 
shoulder  and  squeezed  the  thick  of  my  arm  so  tightly 
that  I  almost  roared  in  his  face  with  the  pain  of  it.  After 
a  long  wrangle  I  wrung  an  offer  of  five  pounds  ten  shillings 
for  my  wages  and  I  was  his  for  six  months  to  come. 

"  Now  gi'  me  your  bundle  and  come  along,"  he  said. 

I  handed  him  my  parcel  of  clothes  and  followed  him 
through  the  streets,  leaving  the  crowd  of  wrangling  masters 
and  obdurate  boys  fighting  over  final  sixpences  behind 
me.  My  master  kept  talking  most  of  the  time,  and  this 
was  how  he  kept  going  on. 

"  What  is  yer  name  ?  Dermod  Flynn  ?  A  Papist  ? — 
all  Donegals  are  Papists.  That  doesn't  matter  to  me,  for 
if  ye're  a  good  willin'  worker  me  and  ye  'ill  get  on  grand. 
I  suppose  ye'll  have  a  big  belly.  It'll  be  hard  to  fill.  Are 


THE  SLAVE  MARKET  33 

ye  hungry  now  ?  I  suppose  yer  teeth  will  be  growin' 
long  with  starvation,  so  I'll  see  if  I  can  get  ye  anything 
to  ate." 

We  turned  up  a  little  side  street,  passed  under  a  low 
archway  and  went  into  an  inn  kitchen,  where  a  young 
woman  with  a  very  red  face  was  bending  over  a  frying- 
pan  on  which  she  was  turning  many  thick  slices  of  bacon. 
The  odour  caused  my  stomach  to  feel  empty. 

"  This  is  a  new  cub  that  I  got,  Mary,"  said  the  man 
to  the  servant.  "  He's  a  Donegal  like  yerself  and  he's 
hungry.  Give  him  some  tay  and  bread." 

"  And  some  butter,"  added  Mary,  looking  at  me. 

"  How  much  is  the  butter  extra  ?  "  asked  my  master. 

"  Tuppence,"  said  Mary. 

"  I  don't  think  that  this  cub  cares  for  butter.  D'ye  ?  " 
he  asked,  turning  to  me. 

"  I  like  butter,"  I  said. 

"  Who'd  have  thought  of  that,  now  ?  "  he  said,  and  he 
did  not  look  at  all  pleased.    "  Ye  can  wait  here,"  he  con 
tinued,  "  and  I'll  come  back  for  ye  in  a  wee  while  and  the 
two  of  us  can  go  along  to  my  farm  together." 

He  went  out  and  left  me  alone  with  the  servant.  As  he 
passed  the  window,  on  his  way  to  the  street,  Mary  put  her 
thumb  to  her  nose  and  spread  her  fingers  out  towards  him. 

"  I  hate  Orangemen,"  she  said  to  me  ;  "  and  that  pig 
of  a  Bennet  is  wan  of  the  worst  of  the  breedin'.  Ah,  the 
old  slobber-chops  !  See  and  keep  up  yer  own  end  of  the 
house  with  him,  anyhow,  and  never  let  the  vermint  tramp 
over  you." 

She  made  ready  a  pot  of  tea,  gave  me  some  bread  and 
butter  and  two  rashers  of  bacon. 

"  Ate  yer  hearty  fill  now,  Dermod,"  said  the  good- 
natured  girl ;  "for  ye'll  not  get  a  dacent  male  for  the 
next  six  months." 

And  I  didn't. 

D 


CHAPTER  VI 

BOYNE  WATER  AND  HOLY  WATER 

"  Since  two  can't  gain  in  the  bargain. 

Then  who  shall  bear  the  loss 
When  little  children  are  auctioned 

As  slaves  at  the  Market  Cross  ? 
Come  to  the  Cross  and  the  Market, 

Where  the  wares  of  the  world  are  sold, 
And  the  wares  are  little  children, 

Traded  for  pieces  of  gold." 

— From  Good  Bargains. 

MY  master's  name  was  Bennet — Joe  Bennet.    He 
owned  a  farm  of  some  eighty  acres  and  kept 
ten  milch  cows,  two  cart-horses,  and  twenty 
sheep.     He  possessed  a  spring-cart,  but  he  seldom  used 
it.     It    had  been  procured  at    one  time  for  taking  the 
family  to  church,  but  they  were  ashamed  to  put  any  of 
the  cart-horses  between  the  shafts,  and  no  wonder.     One 
of  the  horses  was  spavined  and  the  other  was  covered  with 
angleberries. 

He  brought  me  home  from  Strabane  on  the  old  cart 
drawn  by  the  spavined  horse,  and  though  it  was  well  past 
midnight  when  we  returned  I  had  to  wash  the  vehicle 
before  I  turned  into  bed.  My  supper  consisted  of  butter- 
milk and  potatoes,  which  were  served  up  on  the  table  in 
the  kitchen.  The  first  object  that  encountered  my  eye 
was  a  large  picture  of  King  William  Crossing  the  Boyne, 
hung  from  a  nail  over  the  fireplace  and  almost  brown 
with  age.  I  hated  the  picture  from  the  moment  I  set 
eyes  on  it,  and  though  my  dislikes  are  short-lived  they 


BOYNE  WATER  AND  HOLY  WATER  35 

are  intense  while  they  last.  This  picture  almost  assumed 
an  orange  tint  before  I  left,  and  many  a  time  I  used  to 
spit  at  it  out  of  pure  spite  when  left  alone  in  the  kitchen. 

The  household  consisted  of  five  persons,  Bennet,  his 
father  and  mother,  and  two  sisters.  He  was  always 
quarrelling  with  his  two  sisters,  who,  in  addition  to  being 
wasp-waisted  and  spider-shanked,  were  peppery-tongued 
and  salt-tempered,  but  he  never  got  the  best  of  the  argu- 
ment. The  two  hussies  could  talk  the  head  off  a  drum. 
The  old  father  was  half-doting,  and  he  never  spoke  to 
anybody  but  me.  He  sat  all  day  in  the  chimney-corner, 
rubbing  one  skinny  hand  over  the  other,  and  kicking  the 
dog  if  ever  it  happened  to  draw  near  the  fire.  When  he 
spoke  to  me  it  was  to  point  out  some  fault  which  I  had 
committed  at  my  work. 

The  woman  of  the  house  was  bent  like  the  rim  of  a  dish 
from  constant  stooping  over  her  work.  She  got  up  in  the 
morning  before  anyone  else  and  trudged  about  in  the 
yard  all  day,  feeding  the  hens,  washing  the  linen,  weeding 
the  walk  or  seeing  after  the  cows.  I  think  that  she  had  a 
liking  for  me.  One  day  when  I  was  working  beside  her 
in  the  cabbage  patch  she  said  these  words  to  me  : 

"  It's  a  pity  you're  a  Papist,  Dermod." 

I  suppose  she  meant  it  in  good  part,  but  her  talk  made 
me  angry. 

My  bedroom  was  placed  on  the  second  floor,  and  a 
rickety  flight  of  stairs  connected  the  apartment  with  the 
kitchen.  My  room  was  comfortable  enough  when  the 
weather  was  good,  but  when  it  was  wet  the  rain  often 
came  in  by  the  roof  and  soaked  through  my  blankets. 
But  the  hard  work  on  Bennet 's  farm  made  me  so  tired 
that  a  wet  blanket  could  not  keep  me  from  sleeping.  In 
the  morning  I  was  called  at  five  o'clock  and  sent  out  to 
wash  potatoes  in  -a  pond  near  the  house.  Afterwards  they 
were  boiled  in  a  pot  over  the  kitchen  fire,  and  when  cooked 


36    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

they  were  eaten  by  the  pigs  and  me.  I  must  say  that  I 
was  allowed  to  pick  the  best  potatoes  for  myself,  and  I  got 
a  bowl  of  buttermilk  to  wash  them  down.  The  pigs  got 
buttermilk  also.  This  was  my  breakfast  during  the  six 
months.  For  dinner  I  had  potatoes  and  buttermilk,  for 
supper  buttermilk  and  potatoes.  I  never  got  tea  in  the 
afternoon.  The  Bennets  took  tea  themselves,  but  I  sup- 
pose they  thought  that  such  a  luxury  was  unnecessary 
for  me. 

I  always  went  down  on  my  knees  at  the  bedside  to  say 
my  prayers.  I  knew  that  young  Bennet  did  not  like  this, 
so  I  always  left  my  door  wide  open  that  he  might  see  me 
praying  as  he  passed  by  on  the  way  to  his  own  bedroom. 

From  the  moment  of  my  arrival  I  began  to  realise  that 
the  Country  beyond  the  Mountains,  as  the  people  at  home 
call  Tyrone,  was  not  the  best  place  in  the  world  for  a  man 
of  twelve.  Sadder  than  that  it  was  for  me  to  learn  that 
I  was  not  worthy  of  the  name  of  man  at  all.  Many  and 
many  a  time  did  Bennet  say  that  he  was  paying  me  a 
man's  wages  while  I  was  only  fit  for  a  child's  work.  Some- 
times when  carrying  burdens  with  him  I  would  fall  under 
the  weight,  and  upon  seeing  this  he  would  discard  his  own, 
run  forward,  and  with  arms  on  hips,  wait  until  I  rose  from 
the  ground  again. 

"  Whoever  saw  such  a  thing  !  "  he  would  say  and  shake 
his  head.  "  I  thought  that  I  got  a  man  at  the  hirin'-fair." 
He  drawled  out  his  words  slowly  as  if  each  one  gave  him 
pleasure  in  pronouncing  it.  He  affected  a  certain  weari- 
ness in  his  tones  to  me  by  which  he  meant  to  imply  that 
he  might,  as  a  wise  man,  have  been  prepared  for  such 
incompetency  on  my  part.  "  I  thought  that  I  had  a 
man !  I  thought  that  I  had  a  man  !  "  he  would  keep 
repeating  until  I  rose  to  my  feet.  Then  he  would  return 
to  his  own  burden  and  wait  until  my  next  stumble,  when 
he  would  repeat  the  same  performance  all  over  again. 


BOYNE  WATER  AND  HOLY  WATER  37 

Being  a  Glenmornan  man,  I  held  my  tongue  between 
my  teeth,  but  the  eternal  persecution  was  wearing  me 
down.  By  nature  being  generous  and  impulsive,  I  looked 
with  kindly  wonder  on  everything  and  everybody.  I 
loved  my  brothers  and  sisters,  honoured  my  father  and 
mother,  liked  the  neighbours  in  my  own  townland,  and 
they  always  had  a  kind  word  for  me,  even  when  working 
for  them  at  so  much  a  day.  But  Bennet  was  a  man  whom 
I  did  not  understand.  To  him  I  was  not  a  human  being, 
a  boy  with  an  appetite  and  a  soul.  I  was  merely  a  ware 
purchased  in  the  market-place,  something  less  valuable 
than  a  plough,  and  of  no  more  account  than  a  barrow. 
I  felt  my  position  from  the  first.  I,  to  Bennet,  represented 
five  pounds  ten  shillings'  worth  of  goods  bought  at  the 
market-place,  and  the  buyer  wanted,  as  a  business  man, 
to  have  his  money's  worth.  The  man  was,  of  course,  within 
his  rights ;  everybody  wants  the  worth  of  their  money, 
and  who  was  I,  a  boy  bought  for  less  than  a  spavined  horse, 
to  rail  against  the  little  sorrows  which  Destiny  imposed 
upon  me  ?  I  was  only  an  article  of  exchange,  something 
which  represented  so  much  amidst  the  implements  and 
beasts  of  the  farm ;  but  having  a  heart  and  soul  I  felt  the 
position  acutely. 

I  worked  hard  whenever  Bennet  remained  close  by  me, 
but  I  must  admit  that  I  idled  a  lot  of  the  time  when  he 
was  away  from  my  side.  Somehow  I  could  not  help  it. 

Perhaps  I  was  working  all  alone  on  the  Dooish  Mountain, 
making  rikkles  of  peat.  There  were  rag-nails  on  my 
fingers,  I  was  hungry  and  my  feet  were  sore.  I  seemed 
to  be  always  hungry.  Potatoes  and  buttermilk  do  not 
make  the  best  meal  in  the  world,  and  for  six  of  every 
seven  days  they  gave  me  the  heartburn.  Sometimes  I 
would  stand  up  and  bite  a  rag-nail  off  my  finger  while 
watching  a  hare  scooting  across  the  brown  of  the  moor. 
Afterwards  a  fox  might  come  into  view,  showing  clear 


38    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

on  the  horizon  against  the  blue  of  the  sky.  The  pain  that 
came  into  the  small  of  my  back  when  stooping  over  the 
turf -pile  would  go  away.  There  was  great  relief  in  standing 
straight,  although  Bennet  said  that  a  man  should  never 
stand  at  his  work.  And  there  was  I,  who  believed  myself 
a  man,  standing  over  my  work  like  a  child  and  watching 
foxes  and  hares  while  I  was  biting  the  rag-nails  off  my 
fingers.  No  sensible  man  would  be  seen  doing  such  things. 
At  one  moment  a  pack  of  moor-fowl  would  rise  and  chatter 
wildly  over  my  head,  then  drop  into  the  heather  again. 
At  another  a  wisp  of  snipe  would  suddenly  shoot  across 
the  sky,  skimming  the  whole  stretch  of  bogland  almost 
as  quickly  as  the  eye  that  followed  it.  Just  when  I  was  on 
the  point  of  restarting  my  work,  a  cast  of  hawks  might 
come  down  from  the  highest  reach  of  the  mountain  and  rest 
immovable  for  hours  in  the  air  over  my  head.  It  strains 
the  neck  to  gaze  up  when  standing.  Naturally  I  would 
lie  down  on  my  back  and  watch  the  hawks  for  just  one 
little  while  longer.  Minutes  would  slip  into  hours,  and  still 
I  would  lie  there  watching  the  kindred  of  the  wild  as  they 
worked  out  the  problems  of  their  lives  in  their  several 
different  ways.  Meanwhile  I  kept  rubbing  the  cold  moss 
over  my  hacked  hands  in  order  to  drive  the  pain  out  of 
them.  When  Bennet  came  round  in  the  evening  to  see 
my  day's  work  he  would  stand  for  a  moment  regarding 
the  rikkles  of  peat  with  a  critical  stare.  Then  he  would 
look  at  me  with  pity  in  his  eyes. 

"  If  yer  hands  were  as  eager  for  work  as  yer  stomach 
is  for  food  I'd  be  a  happy  master  this  day,"  he  would 
say,  in  a  low  weary  voice.  "  I  once  thought  that  ye  were 
a  man,  but  such  a  mistake,  such  a  mistake  !  " 

Ofttime  when  working  by  the  stream  in  the  bottom- 
lands, I  would  lay  down  my  hay-rake  or  shearing  hook 
and  spend  an  hour  or  two  looking  at  the  brown  trout 
as  they  darted  over  the  white  sand  at  the  bottom  of  the 


BOYNE  WATER  AND  HOLY  WATER  39 

quiet  pools.  Sometimes  I  would  turn  a  pin,  put  a  berry 
on  it  and  throw  it  into  the  water.  I  have  caught  trout  in 
that  fashion  many  a  time.  Bennet  came  across  me  fishing 
one  day  and  he  gave  me  a  blow  on  the  cheek.  I  did  not 
hit  him  back ;  I  felt  afraid  of  him.  Although  twelve 
years  of  age,  I  don't  think  that  I  was  much  of  a  man  after 
all.  If  anybody  struck  Micky's  Jim  in  such  a  manner 
he  would  strike  back  as  quickly  as  he  could  raise  his  fist. 
But  I  could  not  find  courage  to  tighten  my  knuckles  and 
go  for  my  man.  When  he  turned  away  from  me,  my  eyes 
followed  his  ungainly  figure  till  it  was  well  out  of  sight. 
Then  I  raised  my  fist  and  shook  it  in  his  direction. 

"  I'll  give  you  one  yet,  my  fine  fellow,  that  will  do  for 
you  !  "  I  cried. 

Although  I  idled  when  alone  in  the  fields  I  always  kept 
up  my  own  end  of  the  stick  when  working  with  others. 
I  was  a  Glenmornan  man,  and  I  couldn't  have  it  said 
that  any  man  left  me  behind  in  the  work  of  the  fields. 
When  I  fell  under  a  burden  no  person  felt  the  pain  as  much 
as  myself.  A  man  from  my  town  should  never  let  any- 
thing beat  him.  When  he  cannot  carry  his  burden  like 
other  men,  and  better  than  other  men,  it  cuts  him  to  the 
heart,  and  on  almost  every  occasion  when  I  stumbled  and 
fell  I  almost  wished  that  I  could  die  on  the  bare  ground 
whereon  I  stumbled.  But  every  day  I  felt  that  I  was 
growing  stronger,  and  when  Lammastide  went  by  I  thought 
that  I  was  almost  as  strong  even  as  my  master.  When 
alone  I  would  examine  the  muscles  of  my  arms,  press 
them,  rub  them,  contract  them  and  wonder  if  I  was  really 
as  strong  of  arm  as  Joe  Bennet  himself.  When  I  worked 
along  with  him  in  the  meadowlands  and  corn-fields  he 
tried  to  go  ahead  of  me  at  the  toil ;  but  for  all  he  tried 
he  could  not  leave  me  behind.  I  was  a  Glenmornan  man, 
proud  of  my  own  townland,  and  for  its  sake  and  for  the 
sake  of  my  own  people  and  for  the  sake  of  my  own  name 


40    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

I  was  unwilling  to  be  left  behind  by  any  human  being. 
"  A  Glenmornan  man  can  always  handspike  his  own 
burden,"  was  a  word  with  the  men  at  home,  and  as  a 
Glenmornan  man  I  was  jealous  of  my  own  town's  honour. 
Twas  good  to  be  a  Glenmornan  man.  The  pride  of  it 
pulled  me  through  my  toil  when  my  bleeding  hands,  my 
aching  back  and  sore  feet  well  nigh  refused  to  do  their 
labour,  and  that  same  pride  put  the  strength  of  twenty-one 
into  the  spine  of  the  twelve-year-old  man.  But  God  knows 
that  the  labour  was  hard !  The  journey  upstairs  to  bed 
after  the  day's  work  was  a  monstrous  futility,  and  often 
I  had  hard  work  to  restrain  from  weeping  as  I  crawled 
weakly  into  bed  with  maybe  boots  and  trousers  still  on. 
Although  I  had  not  energy  enough  remaining  to  take  off 
my  clothes  I  always  went  on  my  knees  and  prayed  before 
entering  the  bed,  and  once  or  twice  I  read  books  in  my 
room  even.  Let  me  tell  you  of  the  book  which  interested 
me.  It  was  a  red-covered  volume  which  I  picked  up 
from  some  rubbish  that  lay  in  the  corner  of  the  room, 
and  was  called  the  History  of  the  Heavens.  I  liked  the 
story  of  the  stars,  the  earth,  the  sun  and  planets,  and 
I  sat  by  the  window  for  three  nights  reading  the  book 
by  the  light  of  the  moon,  for  I  never  was  allowed  the  use 
of  a  candle.  In  those  nights  I  often  said  to  myself : 
"  Dermod  Flynn,  the  heavens  are  sending  you  light  to 
read  their  story." 


CHAPTER  VII 

A  MAN  OF  TWELVE 

'  Why  d'ye  slouch  beside  yer  work  when  I  am  out  o'  sight  ?  ' 
'  I'm  hungry,  an'  an  empty  sack  can  never  stand  upright.'  " 


"  '  Stoop  to  yer  work,  ye  idle  cub ;   ye  slack  for  hours  on  end.' 
'  I've  eaten  far  too  much  the  day.     A  full  sack  cannot  bend.'  " 

— From  Farmyard  Folly. 

ABOUT  a  week  after,  on  the  stroke  of  eleven  at 
night,  I  was  washing  potatoes  for  breakfast  in 
a  pond  near  the  farmhouse.  They  were  now 
washed  always  on  the  evening  before,  so  that  the  pigs 
might  get  their  meals  a  little  earlier  in  the  morning. 
Those  same  pigs  were  getting  fattened  for  the  Omagh  pork 
market,  and  they  were  never  refused  food.  When  they 
grunted  in  the  sty  I  was  sent  out  to  feed  them,  when  they 
slept  too  long  I  was  sent  out  to  waken  them  for  another 
meal.  Although  I  am  almost  ashamed  to  say  it,  I  envied 
those  pigs. 

Potato- washing  being  the  last  job  of  the  day,  I  always 
thought  it  the  hardest.  I  sat  down  beside  the  basket  of 
potatoes  which  I  had  just  washed,  and  felt  very  much 
out  of  sorts.  I  was  in  a  far  house  and  a  strange  man  was 
my  master.  I  felt  a  bit  homesick  and  I  had  a  great  longing 
for  my  own  people.  The  bodily  pain  was  even  worse.  My 
feet  were  all  blistered ;  one  of  my  boots  pinched  my  toes 
and  gave  me  great  hurt  when  I  moved.  Both  my  hands 


42    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

were  hacked,  and  when  I  placed  them  in  the  water  sharp 
stitches  ran  up  my  arms  as  far  as  my  shoulders. 

I  looked  up  at  the  stars  above  me,  and  I  thought  of  the 
wonderful  things  which  I  had  read  about  them  in  the 
book  picked  up  by  me  in  my  bedroom.  There  they  were 
shining,  thousands  upon  thousands  of  them,  above  my 
head,  each  looking  colder  and  more  distant  than  the  other. 
And  nearly  all  of  them  were  larger  than  our  world,  larger 
even  than  our  sun.  It  was  so  very  hard  to  believe  it. 
Then  my  thoughts  turned  to  the  God  who  fashioned  them, 
and  I  wondered  in  the  way  that  a  man  of  twelve  wonders 
what  was  the  purpose  behind  it  all.  Ever  since  I  could 
remember  I  had  prayed  to  God  nightly,  and  now  I  suddenly 
thought  that  all  my  prayers  were  very  weak  and  feeble. 
Behind  His  million  worlds  what  thought  would  He  have 
for  a  ragged  dirty  plodder  like  me  ?  Were  there  men  and 
women  on  those  worlds,  and  little  boys  also  who  were 
very  unhappy  ?  Had  the  Son  of  God  come  down  and 
died  for  men  on  every  world  of  all  His  worlds  ?  These 
thoughts  left  me  strangely  disturbed  as  I  sat  there  on  the 
brink  of  the  pond  beside  my  basket.  Things  were  coming 
into  my  mind,  new  thoughts  that  almost  frightened  me, 
and  which  I  could  not  thrust  away. 

As  I  sat  the  voice  of  Bennet  came  to  me. 

"  Hi !  man,  are  ye  goin'  to  sit  there  all  night  ?  "  he 
shouted.  "  Ye're  like  the  rest  of  the  Donegal  cubs,  ye 
were  born  lazy." 

I  carried  the  potatoes  in,  placed  them  beside  the  hearth, 
then  dragged  myself  slowly  upstairs  to  bed. 

"Ye  go  upstairs  like  a  dog  paralysed  in  the  hind- 
quarters," shouted  my  boss  from  the  kitchen. 

"  Can  ye  not  let  the  cub  a-be  ?  "  his  mother  reproved 
him,  in  the  aimless  way  that  mothers  reprove  grown-up 
children. 

At  the  head  of  the  stairs  I  sat  down  to  take  off  my 


A  MAN   OF  TWELVE  43 

boots,  for  a  nail  had  passed  through  the  leather  and  was 
entering  the  sole  of  my  right  foot.  I  was  so  very  tired 
that  I  fell  asleep  when  untying  the  laces.  A  kick  on  the 
ankle  delivered  by  my  master  as  he  came  up  to  bed 
wakened  me. 

"  Hook  it,"  he  roared,  and  I  slunk  into  my  room,  too 
weary  to  resent  the  insult.  I  slid  into  bed,  and  when  falling 
asleep  I  suddenly  remembered  that  I  had  not  said  my 
prayers.  I  sat  up  in  my  bed,  but  stopped  short  when  on 
the  point  of  getting  out.  Every  night  since  I  could  re- 
member I  had  knelt  by  my  bedside  and  prayed,  but  as  I 
sat  there  in  the  bed  I  thought  that  I  had  very  little  to 
pray  for.  I  looked  at  the  stars  that  shone  through  the 
window,  and  felt  defiant  and  unafraid  and  very,  very  tired. 

"  No  one  cares  for  me,"  I  said,  "  not  even  the  God  who 
made  me."  I  bent  down  and  touched  my  ankle.  It  was 
raw  and  bleeding  where  Bennet's  nailed  boot  had  ripped 
the  flesh.  I  was  too  tired  to  be  even  angry,  and  I  lay 
back  on  the  pillows  and  fell  asleep. 

Morning  came  so  suddenly  !  I  thought  that  I  had 
barely  fallen  into  the  first  sleep  when  I  again  heard  Bennet 
calling  to  me  to  get  up  and  start  work.  I  did  not  answer, 
and  he  was  silent  for  a  moment.  I  must  have  fallen  asleep 
again,  for  the  next  thing  that  I  was  aware  of  was  my 
master's  presence  in  the  room.  He  pulled  me  out  of  bed 
and  threw  me  on  the  floor,  and  kicked  me  again  with  his 
heavy  boots.  I  rose  to  my  feet,  and,  mad  with  anger,  for 
passion  seizes  me  quickly,  I  hit  him  on  the  belly  with  my 
knee.  I  put  all  my  strength  into  the  blow,  and  he  got 
very  white  and  left  the  room,  holding  his  two  hands  to 
his  stomach.  He  never  struck  me  afterwards,  for  I  believe 
that  he  knew  I  was  always  waiting  and  ready  for  him. 
If  he  hit  me  again  I  would  stand  up  to  him  until  he  knocked 
me  stupid ;  my  little  victory  in  the  bedroom  had  given 
me  so  much  more  courage  and  belief  in  my  own  powers. 


44    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

In  a  fight  I  never  know  when  I  am  beaten  ;  even  as  a 
child  I  did  not  know  the  meaning  of  defeat,  and  I  have 
had  many  a  hard  fight  since  I  left  Glenmornan,  every  one 
of  which  went  to  prove  what  I  have  said.  Anyhow,  why 
should  a  Glenmornan  man,  and  a  man  of  twelve  to  boot, 
know  when  he  is  beaten  ? 

The  bat  I  gave  Bennet  did  not  lessen  my  heavy  toil 
in  the  fields.  On  the  contrary,  the  man  kept  closer  watch 
over  me  and  saw  that  I  never  had  an  idle  moment.  Even 
my  supply  of  potatoes  was  placed  under  restriction. 

Bennet  caused  me  to  feed  the  pigs  before  I  took  my 
own  breakfast,  and  if  a  pig  grunted  while  I  was  eating  he 
would  look  at  me  with  the  eternal  eyes  of  reproach. 

"  Go  out  and  give  that  pig  something  more  to  eat," 
he  would  say.  "  Don't  eat  all  yerself.  I  never  saw  such 
a  greedy-gut  as  ye  are." 

One  day  I  had  a  good  feed ;  I  never  enjoyed  anything 
so  much  in  all  my  life,  I  think.  A  sort  of  Orange  gathering 
took  place  in  Omagh,  and  all  the  Bennets  went.  Even  the 
old  grizzled  man  left  his  seat  by  the  chimney-corner,  and 
took  his  place  on  the  spring-cart  drawn  by  the  spavined 
mare.  They  told  me  to  work  in  the  fields  until  they  came 
back,  but  no  sooner  were  their  backs  turned  than  I  made 
for  the  house,  intending  to  have  at  least  one  good  feed 
in  the  six  months.  I  made  myself  a  cup  of  tea,  opened 
the  pantry  door,  and  discovered  a  delightful  chunk  of 
currant  cake.  I  took  a  second  cup  of  tea  along  with  the 
cake.  I  opened  the  pantry  door  by  inserting  a  crooked 
nail  in  the  lock,  but  I  found  that  I  could  not  close  the 
door  again.  This  did  not  deter  me  from  drinking  more 
tea,  and  I  believe  that  I  took  upwards  of  a  dozen  cups 
of  the  liquid. 

I  divided  part  of  the  cake  with  the  dog.  I  could  not 
resist  the  soft  look  in  the  eyes  which  the  animal  fixed  on 
me  while  I  was  eating.  Before  I  became  a  man,  and  when 


A  MAN  OF  TWELVE  45 

I  lived  in  Glenmornan,  I  wept  often  over  the  trouble  of 
the  poor  soft-eyed  dogs.  They  have  troubles  of  their  own, 
and  I  can  understand  their  little  worries.  Bennet's  dog 
gave  me  great  help  in  disposing  of  the  cake,  and  when  he 
had  finished  the  meal  he  nuzzled  up  against  my  leg,  which 
was  as  much  as  to  say  that  he  was  very  thankful  for  my 
kindness  to  him.  I  got  into  trouble  when  the  people  of 
the  house  returned.  They  were  angry,  but  what  could 
they  do  ?  Bread  eaten  is  like  fallen  rain  ;  it  can  never  be 
put  back  in  its  former  place. 

Never  for  a  moment  did  I  dream  seriously  of  going 
home  again  for  a  long,  long  while.  Now  and  again  I  wished 
that  I  was  back  for  just  one  moment,  but  being  a  man, 
independent  and  unafraid,  such  a  foolish  thought  never 
held  me  long.  I  was  working  on  my  own  without  anyone 
to  cheer  me,  and  this  caused  me  to  feel  proud  of  myself 
and  of  the  work  I  was  doing. 

Once  every  month  I  got  a  letter  from  home,  telling  me 
about  the  doings  in  my  own  place,  and  I  was  always  glad 
to  hear  the  Glenmornan  news.  Such  and  such  a  person  had 
died,  one  neighbour  had  bought  two  young  steers  at  the 
harvest-fair  of  Greenanore,  another  had  been  fined  a  couple 
of  pounds  before  the  bench  for  fishing  with  a  float  on 
Lough  Meenarna,  and  hundreds  of  other  little  items  were 
all  told  in  faithful  detail. 

My  thoughts  went  often  back,  and  daily,  when  dragging 
through  the  turnip  drills  or  wet  hay  streaks,  I  built  up  great 
hopes  of  the  manner  in  which  I  would  go  home  to  my  own 
people  in  the  years  to  come.  I  would  be  very  rich.  That 
was  one  essential  point  in  the  dreams  of  my  return.  I  would 
be  big  and  very  strong,  afraid  of  no  man  and  liked  by  all 
men.  I  would  pay  a  surprise  visit  to  Glenmornan  in  the 
night-time  when  all  the  lamps  were  lit  on  both  sides  of 
the  valley.  At  the  end  of  the  boreen  I  would  stand  for  a 
moment  and  look  through  the  window  of  my  home,  and  see 


46    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

my  father  plaiting  baskets  by  the  light  of  the  hanging  lamp. 
My  mother  would  be  seated  on  the  hearthstone,  telling 
stories  to  my  little  sisters.  (Not  for  a  moment  could  I 
dream  of  them  other  than  what  they  were  when  I  saw  them 
last.)  Maybe  she  would  speak  of  Dermod,  who  was  pushing 
his  fortune  away  in  foreign  parts. 

And  while  they  were  talking  the  latch  of  the  door  would 
rise,  and  I  would  stand  in  the  middle  of  the  floor. 

"  It's  Dermod  himself  that's  in  it !  "  they  would  all 
cry  in  one  voice.  "  Dermod  that's  just  come  back,  and 
we  were  talking  about  him  this  very  minute." 

Dreams  like  these  made  up  a  great  part  of  my  life  in 
those  days.  Sometimes  I  would  find  myself  with  a  job 
finished,  failing  to  remember  how  it  was  completed. 
During  the  whole  time  I  was  buried  deep  in  some  dream 
while  I  worked  mechanically,  and  at  the  end  of  the  job 
I  was  usually  surprised  to  find  such  a  large  amount  of 
work  done. 

I  was  glad  when  the  end  of  the  term  drew  near.  I  hated 
Bennet  and  he  hated  me,  and  I  would  not  stop  in  his 
service  another  six  months  for  all  the  stock  on  his  farm. 
I  would  look  for  a  new  master  in  Strabane  hiring-mart, 
and  maybe  my  luck  would  be  better  next  time.  I  left 
the  farmhouse  with  a  dislike  for  all  forms  of  mastery,  and 
that  dislike  is  firmly  engrained  in  my  heart  even  to  this 
day.  The  covert  sneers,  the  insulting  jibes,  the  kicks  and 
curses  were  good,  because  they  moulded  my  character  in 
the  way  that  is  best.  To-day  I  assert  that  no  man  is  good 
enough  to  be  another  man's  master.  I  hate  all  forms  of 
tyranny  ;  and  the  kicks  of  Joe  Bennet  and  the  weary  hours 
spent  in  earning  the  first  rent  which  I  ever  paid  for  my 
people's  croft,  were  responsible  for  instilling  that  hatred 
into  my  being. 

I  sent  four  pounds  fifteen  shillings  home  to  my  parents, 
and  this  was  given  to  the  landlord  and  priest,  the  man  I 


A  MAN   OF  TWELVE  47 

had  met  six  months  before  on  Greenanore  platform  and 
the  pot-bellied  man  with  the  shiny  false  teeth,  who  smoked 
ninepenny  cigars  and  paid  three  hundred  pounds  for  his 
lavatory.  Years  later,  when  tramping  through  Scotland, 
I  saw  the  landlord  motoring  along  the  road,  accompanied 
by  his  two  daughters,  who  were  about  my  age.  When  I 
saw  those  two  girls  I  wondered  how  far  the  four  pounds 
fifteen  which  I  earned  in  blood  and  sweat  in  mid-Tyrone 
went  to  decorate  their  bodies  and  flounce  their  hides.  I 
wondered,  too,  how  many  dinners  they  procured  from  the 
money  that  might  have  saved  the  life  of  my  little  brother. 
And  as  far  as  I  can  ascertain  the  priest  lives  yet ;  always 
imposing  new  taxes  ;  shortening  the  torments  of  souls  in 
Purgatory  at  so  much  a  soul ;  forgiving  sins  which  have 
never  caused  him  any  inconvenience,  and  at  word  of  his 
mouth  sending  the  peasantry  to  heaven  or  to  hell. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

OLD  MARY  SORLEY 

"  Do  that  ?  I  would  as  soon  think  of  robbing  a  corpse  1 " 

— As  is  SAID  IN  GLENMORNAN. 

I  DEVOTED  the  fifteen  shillings  which  remained  from 
my  wages  to  my  own  use.  My  boots  were  well- 
nigh  worn,  and  my  trousers  were  getting  thin  at  the 
knees,  but  the  latter  I  patched  as  well  as  I  was  able  and 
paid  half  a  crown  to  get  my  boots  newly  soled.  For  the 
remainder  of  the  money  I  bought  a  shirt  and  some  under- 
clothing to  restock  my  bundle,  and  when  I  went  out  to 
look  for  a  new  master  in  the  slave  market  of  Strabane 
I  had  only  one  and  sevenpence  in  my  pockets. 

I  never  for  a  moment  thought  of  keeping  all  my  wages 
for  myself.  Such  a  wild  idea  never  entered  my  head.  I 
was  born  and  bred  merely  to  support  my  parents,  and  great 
care  had  been  taken  to  drive  this  fact  into  my  mind  from 
infancy.  I  was  merely  brought  into  the  world  to  support 
those  who  were  responsible  for  my  existence.  Often  when 
my  parents  were  speaking  of  such  and  such  a  young  man 
I  heard  them  say :  "  He'll  never  have  a  day's  luck  in  all 
his  life.  He  didn't  give  every  penny  he  earned  to  his 
father  and  mother." 

I  thought  it  would  be  so  fine  to  have  all  my  wages  to 
myself  to  spend  in  the  shops,  to  buy  candy  just  like  a  little 
boy  or  to  take  a  ride  on  the  swing-boats  or  merry-go-rounds 
at  thefar  corner  of  the  market-place.  I  would  like  to  do  those 


OLD  MARY  SORLEY  49 

things,  but  the  voice  of  conscience  reproved  me  for  even 
thinking  of  them.  If  once  I  started  to  spend  it  was  hard 
to  tell  when  I  might  stop.  Perhaps  I  would  spend  the  whole 
one  and  sevenpence.  I  had  never  in  all  my  life  spent  a 
penny  on  candy  or  a  toy,  and  seeing  that  I  was  a  man  I 
could  not  begin  now.  It  was  my  duty  to  send  my  money 
home,  and  I  knew  that  if  I  even  spent  as  much  as  one  penny 
I  would  never  have  a  day's  luck  in  all  my  life. 

I  had  grown  bigger  and  stronger,  and  I  was  a  different 
man  altogether  from  the  boy  who  had  come  up  from 
Donegal  six  months  before.  I  had  a  fight  with  a  youngster 
at  the  fair,  and  I  gave  him  two  black  eyes  while  he  only 
gave  me  one. 

A  man  named  Sorley,  a  big  loose-limbed  rung  of  a  fellow 
who  came  from  near  Omagh,  hired  me  for  the  winter  term. 
Together  the  two  of  us  walked  home  at  the  close  of  the 
evening,  and  it  was  near  midnight  when  we  came  to  the 
house,  the  distance  from  Strabane  being  eight  miles.  The 
house  was  in  the  middle  of  a  moor,  and  a  path  ran  across 
the  heather  to  the  very  door.  The  path  was  soggy  and 
miry,  and  the  water  squelched  under  our  boots  as  we  walked 
along.  The  night  was  dark,  the  country  around  looked 
bleak  and  miserable,  and  very  few  words  passed  between  us 
on  the  long  tramp.  Once  he  said  that  I  should  like  his 
place,  again,  that  he  kept  a  lot  of  grazing  cattle  and  jobbed 
them  about  from  one  market  to  another.  He  also  alluded 
to  another  road  across  the  moor,  one  better  than  the  one 
taken  by  us  ;  but  it  was  very  roundabout,  unless  a  man 
came  in  from  the  Omagh  side  of  the  country. 

There  was  an  old  wrinkled  woman  sitting  at  the  fire 
having  a  shin  heat  when  we  entered  the  house.  She  was 
dry  and  withered,  and  kept  turning  the  live  peats  over  and 
over  on  the  fire,  which  is  one  of  the  signs  of  a  doting 
person.  Her  flesh  resembled  the  cover  of  a  rabbit-skin 
purse  that  is  left  drying  in  the  chimney-corner. 


50    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

"  Have  ye  got  a  cub  ?  "  she  asked  my  master  without 
as  much  as  a  look  at  me. 

"  I  have  a  young  colt  of  a  thing,"  he  answered. 

"  They've  been  at  it  again,"  went  on  the  old  woman. 
"  It's  the  brannat  cow  this  time." 

"  We'll  have  to  get  away,  that's  all,"  said  the  man. 
"  They'll  soon  not  be  after  leavin'  a  single  tail  in  the  byre." 

"  Is  it  me  that  would  be  leavin'  now  ?  "  asked  the  old 
woman,  rising  to  her  feet,  and  the  look  on  her  face  was 
frightful  to  see.  "  They'll  niver  put  Mary  Sorley  out  of 
her  house  when  she  put  it  in  her  mind  to  stay.  May  the 
seven  curses  rest  on  their  heads,  them  with  their  Home  Rule 
and  rack-rint  and  what  not !  It's  me  that  would  stand 
barefoot  on  the  red-hot  hob  of  hell  before  I'd  give  in  to  the 
likes  of  them." 

Her  anger  died  out  suddenly,  and  she  sat  down  and  began 
to  turn  the  turf  over  on  the  fire  as  she  had  been  doing 
when  I  entered. 

"  Maybe  ye'd  go  out  and  wash  their  tails  a  bit,"  she  went 
on.  "  And  take  the  cub  with  ye  to  hould  the  candle. 
He's  a  thin  cub  that,  surely,"  she  said,  looking  at  me  for 
the  first  time.  "  He'll  be  a  light  horse  for  a  heavy  burden." 

The  man  carried  a  pail  of  water  out  to  the  byre,  while  I 
followed  holding  a  candle  which  I  sheltered  from  the  wind 
with  my  cap. 

The  cattle  were  kept  in  a  long  dirty  building,  and  it 
looked  as  if  it  had  not  been  cleaned  for  weeks.  There  were 
a  number  of  young  bullocks  tied  to  the  stakes  along  the 
wall,  and  most  of  these  had  their  tails  cut  off  short  and  close 
to  the  body.  A  brindled  cow  stood  at  one  end,  and  the 
blood  dripped  from  her  into  the  sink.  The  whole  tail 
had  been  recently  cut  away. 

"  Why  do  you  cut  the  tails  off  the  cattle  ?  "  I  asked 
Sorley,  as  he  proceeded  to  wash  the  wound  on  the  brindled 
cow. 


OLD  MARY  SORLEY  51 

"  Just  to  keep  them  short,"  he  said,  stealing  a  furtive 
glance  at  me  as  he  spoke.  I  did  not  ask  any  further  ques- 
tions, but  I  could  see  that  he  was  telling  an  untruth.  At 
once  I  guessed  that  the  farm  was  boycotted,  and  that  the 
peasantry  were  showing  their  disapproval  of  some  action 
of  Sorley's  by  cutting  the  tails  off  his  cattle.  I  wished  that 
moment  that  I  had  gotten  another  master  who  was  on  a 
more  friendly  footing  with  his  neighbours. 

When  we  returned  to  the  house  the  old  woman  was 
sitting  still  by  the  fire  mumbling  away  to  herself  at  the  one 
thing  over  and  over  again. 

"  Old  Mary  Sorley  won't  be  hounded  out  of  her  house  and 
home  if  all  the  cattle  in  me  byre  was  without  tails,"  she 
said  in  rambling  tones,  which  now  and  again  rose  to  a 
shriek  almost.  "  What  would  an  old  woman  like  me  be 
carin'  for  the  band  of  them  ?  Am  I  not  as  good  as  the 
tenant  that  was  here  before  me,  him  with  his  talk  of  rack- 
rint  and  Home  Rule  ?  Old  Mary  Sorley  is  goin'  to  stay 
here  till  she  leaves  the  house  in  a  coffin." 

The  man  and  I  sat  down  at  a  pot  of  porridge  and  ate  our 
suppers. 

"  Don't  take  any  heed  of  me  mother,"  he  said  to  me. 
"  It's  only  dramin'  and  dotin'  that  she  is." 

Early  next  morning  I  was  sent  out  to  the  further  end  of 
the  moor,  there  to  gather  up  some  sheep  and  take  them 
back  to  the  farmyard.  I  met  three  men  on  the  way,  three 
rough-looking,  angry  sort  of  men.  One  of  them  caught 
hold  of  me  by  the  neck  and  threw  me  into  a  bog-hole.  I 
was  nearly  drowned  in  the  slush.  When  I  tried  to  drag 
myself  out,  the  other  two  threw  sods  on  top  of  me.  The 
moment  I  pulled  myself  clear  I  ran  off  as  hard  as  I  could. 

"  This  will  teach  ye  not  to  work  for  a  boycotted  bastard," 
one  of  them  called  after  me,  but  none  of  them  made  any 
attempt  to  follow.  I  ran  as  hard  as  I  could  until  I  got  to 
the  house.  When  I  arrived  there  I  informed  Sorley  of  all 


52    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

that  had  taken  place,  and  said  that  I  was  going  to  stop  no 
longer  in  his  service. 

"  I  had  work  enough  lookin'  for  a  cub,"  he  said  ;  "  and 
I'm  no  goin'  to  let  ye  run  away  now." 

"I'm  going  anyway,"  I  said. 

"  Now  and  will  ye  ?  "  answered  the  man,  and  he  took  my 
spare  clothes  and  hid  them  somewhere  in  the  house.  My 
bits  of  clothes  were  all  that  I  had  between  me  and  the  world, 
and  they  meant  a  lot  to  me.  Without  them  I  would  not 
go  away,  and  Sorley  knew  that.  I  had  to  wait  for  three 
days  more,  then  I  got  my  clothes  and  left. 

That  happened  when  old  Mary  Sorley  died. 

It  was  late  in  the  evening.  She  was  left  sitting  on  the 
hearthstone,  turning  the  fire  over,  while  Sorley  and  I  went 
to  wash  the  tails  of  the  wounded  cattle  in  the  byre.  My 
master  had  forgotten  the  soap,  and  he  sent  me  back  to  the 
kitchen  for  it.  I  asked  the  old  woman  to  give  it  to  me. 
She  did  not  answer  when  I  spoke,  and  I  went  up  close  to  her 
and  repeated  my  question.  But  she  never  moved.  I 
turned  out  again  and  took  my  way  to  the  byre. 

"  Have  ye  got  it  ?  "  asked  my  master. 

"Your  mother  has  fainted,"  I  answered. 

He  ran  into  the  house,  and  I  followed.  Between  us  we 
lifted  the  woman  into  the  bed  which  was  placed  in  one 
corner  of  the  kitchen.  Her  body  felt  very  stiff,  and  it  was 
very  light.  The  man  crossed  her  hands  over  her  breast. 

"  Me  poor  mother's  dead,"  he  told  me. 

"  Is  she  ?  "  I  asked,  and  went  down  on  my  knees  by  the 
bedside  to  say  a  prayer  for  her  soul.  When  on  my  knees 
I  noticed  where  my  spare  clothes  were  hidden.  They  were 
under  the  straw  of  the  bed  on  which  the  corpse  was  lying. 
I  hurried  over  my  prayers,  as  I  did  not  take  much  pleasure 
in  praying  for  the  soul  of  a  boycotted  person. 

"  I  must  go  to  Omagh  and  get  me  married  sister  to  come 
here  and  help  me  for  a  couple  of  days,"  said  Sorley  when  I 


OLD  MARY  SORLEY  53 

got  to  my  feet  again.  "  Ye  can  sit  here  and  keep  watch 
until  I  come  back." 

He  went  out,  saddled  the  pony,  and  in  a  couple  of  minutes 
I  heard  the  clatter  of  hoofs  echoing  on  the  road  across  the 
moor.  In  a  little  while  the  sounds  died  away,  and  there 
I  was,  all  alone  with  the  corpse  of  old  Mary  Sorley. 

I  edged  my  chair  into  the  corner  where  the  two  walls 
met,  and  kept  my  eye  on  the  woman  in  the  bed.  I  was 
afraid  to  turn  round,  thinking  that  she  might  get  up  when 
I  was  not  looking  at  her.  Out  on  the  moor  a  restless  dog 
commenced  to  voice  some  ancient  wrong,  and  its  mournful 
howl  caused  a  chill  to  run  down  my  backbone.  Once  or 
twice  I  thought  that  someone  was  tapping  at  the  window- 
pane  behind  me,  and  feared  to  look  round  lest  a  horrible 
face  might  be  peering  in.  But  all  the  time  I  kept  looking 
at  the  white  features  of  the  dead  woman,  and  I  would  not 
turn  round  for  the  world.  The  cat  slept  beside  the  fire 
and  never  moved. 

The  hour  of  midnight  struck  on  the  creaky  old  wag-of- 
the-wall,  and  I  made  up  my  mind  to  leave  the  place  for 
good.  I  wanted  my  clothes  which  I  had  seen  under  the 
straw  of  the  kitchen  bed.  It  was  an  eerie  job  to  turn  over 
a  corpse  at  the  hour  of  midnight.  The  fire  was  almost 
out,  for  I  had  placed  no  peat  on  it  since  Sorley  left  for 
Omagh.  A  little  wind  came  under  the  door  and  whirled 
the  pale-grey  ashes  over  the  hearthstone. 

I  went  to  the  bed  and  turned  the  woman  over  on  her  side, 
keeping  one  hand  against  the  body  to  prevent  it  falling 
back  on  me.  With  the  other  hand  I  drew  out  my  clothes, 
counting  each  garment  until  I  had  them  all.  As  soon  as 
I  let  the  corpse  go  it  nearly  rolled  out  on  the  ground.  I 
could  hardly  remove  my  gaze  from  the  cold  quiet  thing. 
The  eyes  were  wide  open  all  the  time,  and  they  looked  like 
icy  pools  seen  on  a  dark  night.  I  wrapped  my  garments 
up  in  a  handkerchief  which  was  hanging  from  a  nail  in  the 


54    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

bedstock.  The  handkerchief  was  not  mine.  It  belonged 
to  the  dead  woman,  but  she  would  not  need  it  any  more. 
I  took  it  because  I  wanted  it,  and  it  was  the  only  wages 
which  I  should  get  for  my  three  days'  work  on  the  farm. 
While  I  was  busy  tying  my  clothes  together  the  cat  rose 
from  the  fireplace  and  jumped  into  the  bed.  I  suppose  it 
felt  cold  by  the  dying  fire.  I  thought  at  the  time  that  it 
would  not  be  much  warmer  beside  a  dead  body.  From 
the  back  of  the  corpse  the  animal  watched  me  for  a  few 
minutes,  then  it  fell  asleep. 

I  took  my  bundle  in  my  hand,  opened  the  door,  and  went 
out  into  the  darkness,  leaving  the  sleeping  cat  and  the  dead 
woman  alone  in  the  boycotted  house.  The  night  was  fine 
and  frosty  and  a  smother  of  cold  stars  lay  on  the  face  of 
the  heavens.  A  cow  moaned  in  the  byre  as  I  passed,  while 
the  stray  dog  kept  howling  miserably  away  on  the  middle 
of  the  moor.  I  took  the  path  that  twisted  and  turned 
across  the  bogland,  and  I  ran.  I  was  almost  certain  that 
the  corpse  was  following  me,  but  I  would  not  turn  and 
look  behind  for  the  world.  If  you  turn  and  look  at  the 
ghost  that  follows  you,  it  is  certain  to  get  in  front,  and  not 
let  you  proceed  any  further.  So  they  said  in  Glenmornan. 

After  a  while  I  walked  slowly.  I  had  already  left  a  good 
"stretch  of  ground  between  me  and  the  house.  I  could  hear 
the  brown  grass  sighing  on  the  verge  of  the  black  ponds 
of  water.  The  wind  was  running  along  the  ground  and  it 
made  strange  sounds.  Far  away  the  pale  cold  flames  of 
the  will-of-the-wisp  flitted  backwards  and  forwards,  but 
never  came  near  the  fringe  of  the  road  on  which  I 
travelled. 

I  heard  the  rattle  of  horse's  hoofs  coming  towards  me, 
and  I  hid  in  a  clump  of  bracken  until  the  rider  passed  by. 
I  knew  that  it  was  Sorley  on  his  way  back  from  Omagh. 
There  was  a  woman  sitting  behind  him  on  the  saddle,  and 
when  both  went  out  of  sight  I  ran  until  I  came  out  on  the 


OLD  MARY  SORLEY  55 

high-road.  Maybe  I  walked  three  miles  after  that,  and 
maybe  I  walked  more,  but  at  last  I  came  to  a  haystack  by 
the  roadside.  I  crept  over  the  dyke,  lay  down  in  the  hay 
and  fell  asleep,  my  head  resting  on  my  little  bundle  of 
clothes. 


CHAPTER  IX 

A   GOOD   TIME 

"  There's  a  good  time  comin',  though  we  may  never  live  to  see  it." 

— MOLESKIN  JOE. 

A  WATERY  mid-November  sun  was  peering  through 
a  leafless  birch  tree  that  rose  near  my  sleeping- 
place  when  I  awoke  to  find  a  young  healthy 
slip  of  a  woman  looking  at  me  with  a  pair  of  large  laughing 
eyes. 

"  The  top  o'  the  morn  to  ye,  me  boy,"  she  said.  "  Ye're 
a  young  cub  to  be  a  beggar  already." 

"  I'm  not  a  beggar,"  I  answered,  getting  up  to  my  feet. 

"  Ye  might  be  worse  now,"  she  replied,  making  a  sort 
of  excuse  for  her  former  remark.  "  And  anyway,  it's  not  a 
dacent  man's  bed  ye've  been  lyin'  on  all  be  yerself,  me 
boy."  I  knew  that  she  was  making  fun  of  me,  but  for  all 
that  I  liked  the  look  of  her  face. 

"  Now,  where  would  ye  be  a-goin'  at  this  time  o'  the 
morn  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  That's  more  than  I  know  myself,  good  woman,"  I 
said.  "  I  have  been  working  with  a  man  named  Sorley, 
but  I  left  him  last  night." 

"  Matt  Sorley,  the  boycotted  man  ?  " 

"  The  same." 

"  Yell  be  a  Donegal  cub  ?  " 

"  That  I  am,"  I  replied. 

"  Ye're  a  comely  lookin'  fellow,"  said  the  woman. 
"  An'  what  age  may  ye  be  ?  " 


A  GOOD  TIME  57 

"I'll  be  thirteen  come  Christmas,"  I  said  proudly. 

"  Poor  child  !  "  said  the  woman.  "  Ye  should  be  in  yer 
own  home  yet.  Was  old  Mary  Sorley  good  to  ye  ?  " 

"  She's  dead." 

"  Under  God  the  day  and  the  night,  and  d'ye  tell  me  so  !  " 
cried  the  woman,  and  she  said  a  short  prayer  to  herself  for 
the  soul  of  Mary  Sorley. 

"  She  was  a  bad  woman,  indeed,  but  it's  wrong  to  speak 
an  ill  word  of  the  dead,"  my  new  friend  went  on  when  she 
had  finished  her  prayer.  "  Now  where  would  ye  be  makin' 
for  next  ?  " 

"  That's  it,"  I  answered. 

For  a  moment  the  woman  was  deep  in  thought.  "  I 
suppose  ye'll  be  lookin'  for  a  new  place  ?  "  she  asked 
suddenly. 

"  I  am  that,"  I  said. 

"  I  have  a  half-brother  on  the  leadin'  road  to  Strabane, 
and  he  wants  a  cub  for  the  winter  term,"  said  the  woman. 
"  I  live  in  the  same  house  meself  and  if  ye  care  ye  can  come 
and  see  him,  and  I  meself  will  put  in  a  word  in  yer  favour. 
His  name  in  James  MaCrossan,  and  he's  a  good  man  to  his 
servants." 

That  very  minute  we  set  out  together.  We  came  to  the 
house  of  James  MaCrossan,  and  found  the  man  working  in 
the  farmyard.  He  had  a  good,  strong,  kindly  face  that  was 
pleasant  to  look  upon.  His  shirt  was  open  at  the  front, 
and  a  great  hairy  chest  was  visible.  His  arms,  bare  almost 
to  the  shoulders,  were  as  hairy  as  the  limbs  of  a  beast,  and 
much  dirtier.  His  shoes  were  covered  with  cow-dung, 
and  he  stood  stroking  a  horse  as  tenderly  as  if  it  had  been  a 
young  child  in  the  centre  of  the  yard.  His  half-sister 
spoke  to  him  about  me,  while  I  stood  aside  with  my  little 
bundle  dangling  from  my  arm.  WThen  the  woman  had 
finished  her  story  MaCrossan  looked  at  me  with  good 
humour  in  his  eyes. 


58    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

"  And  how  much  wages  would  ye  be  wantin'  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Six  pounds  from  now  till  May-day,"  I  said. 

The  man  was  no  stickler  over  a  few  shillings.  He  took 
me  as  a  servant  there  and  then  at  the  wages  I  asked. 

His  farm  was  a  good  easy  one  to  work  on,  he  and  his 
sister  were  very  kind  to  me,  and  treated  me  more  like  one 
of  themselves  than  a  servant.  I  lay  abed  every  morning 
until  seven,  and  on  rising  I  got  porridge  and  milk,  followed 
by  tea,  bread  and  butter,  for  breakfast.  There  was  no  lack 
of  food,  and  I  grew  fatter  and  happier.  I  finished  my  day's 
work  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening,  and  could  then  turn 
into  bed  when  I  liked.  The  cows,  sheep,  and  pigs  were 
under  my  care,  MaCrossan  worked  with  the  horses,  while 
Bridgid,  his  half-sister,  did  the  house-work  and  milked  the 
cows.  I  did  not  learn  to  milk,  for  that  is  a  woman's  job. 
At  least,  I  thought  so  in  those  days.  Pulling  the  soft 
udder  of  a  cow  was  not  the  proper  job  for  a  man 
like  me. 

One  day  my  master  came  into  the  byre  and  asked  me  if 
I  could  milk. 

"  No,"  I  answered.  "  And  what  is  more  I  don't  want 
to  learn.  It  is  not  a  manly  job." 

MaCrossan  merely  laughed,  and  by  way  of  giving  me  a 
lesson  in  manliness,  he  lifted  me  over  his  head  with  one 
wrench  of  his  arm,  holding  me  there  for  at  least  a  minute. 
When  he  replaced  me  on  the  ground  I  felt  very  much 
ashamed,  but  the  man  on  seeing  this  laughed  louder  than 
ever.  That  night  he  told  the  story  to  his  half-sister. 

"  Calls  milkin'  a  job  for  a  woman,  indeed  !  "  she  ex- 
claimed. "  The  little  rogue  of  a  cub !  if  I  get  hold  of 
him." 

With  these  words  she  ran  laughing  after  me,  and  I  ran 
out  of  the  house  into  the  darkness.  Although  I  knew  she 
was  not  in  earnest  I  felt  a  bit  afraid  of  her.  Three  times 
she  followed  me  round  the  farmyard,  but  I  managed  to 


A  GOOD  TIME  59 

keep  out  of  her  reach  each  time.     In  the  end  she  returned 
to  the  house. 

"  Dermod,  come  back,"  she  called.  "  No  one  will  harm 
ye." 

I  would  not  be  caught  in  such  an  easy  manner,  and 
above  all  I  did  not  want  the  woman  to  grip  me.  For  an 
hour  I  stood  in  the  darkness,  then  I  slipped  through  the 
open  window  of  my  bedroom,  which  was  on  the  ground 
floor,  and  turned  into  my  bed.  A  few  moments  afterwards 
Bridgid  came  into  the  room  carrying  a  lighted  candle,  and 
found  me  under  the  blankets.  I  watched  her  through  the 
fringe  of  my  eyelashes  while  pretending  that  I  was  fast 
asleep. 

"  Ha,  ye  rogue  !  "  she  cried.    "  I  have  ye  now." 

She  ran  towards  me,  but  still  I  pretended  to  be  in  a  deep 
slumber.  I  closed  my  eyes  tightly,  but  I  felt  awfully 
afraid.  She  drew  closer,  and  at  last  I  could  feel  her  breath 
warm  on  my  cheek.  But  she  did  not  grip  me.  Instead, 
she  kissed  me  on  the  lips  three  times,  and  I  was  so  surprised 
that  I  opened  my  eyes. 

"  Ye  little  shamer  !  d'ye  think  that  that  is  a  woman's 
job  too  ?  "  she  asked,  and  with  these  words  she  ran  out  of 
the  room. 

I  stayed  on  the  farm  for  nineteen  months,  and  then, 
though  MaCrossan  was  a  very  good  master,  I  set  my  mind 
on  leaving  him.  Day  and  night  the  outside  world  was 
calling  to  me,  and  something  lay  awaiting  for  me  in  other 
lands.  Maybe  I  could  make  more  money  in  foreign  parts, 
and  earn  a  big  pile  for  myself  and  my  people.  Some  day, 
when  I  had  enough  and  to  spare,  I  would  do  great  things. 
There  was  a  waste  piece  of  land  lying  near  my  father's 
house  in  Glenmornan,  and  my  people  had  set  their  eyes  on  it. 
I  would  buy  that  piece  of  land  when  I  was  rolling  in  money. 
Oh  !  what  would  I  not  do  when  I  got  rich  ? 

About  once  a  month  I  had  a  letter  from  mother.    She 


60    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

was  not  much  of  a  hand  at  the  pen,  and  her  letters  were 
always  short.  Most  of  the  time  she  wanted  money,  and  I 
always  sent  home  every  penny  that  I  could  spare. 

Sometimes  I  longed  to  go  back  again.  In  a  boy's 
longing  way  I  wanted  to  see  Norah  Ryan,  for  I  liked  her 
well.  Her,  too,  I  would  remember  when  I  got  rich,  and  I 
would  make  her  a  great  lady.  These  were  some  of  my 
dreams,  and  they  made  me  hate  the  look  of  MaCrossan's 
farm.  Daily  I  grew  to  hate  it  more,  its  dirty  lanes,  the 
filthy  byre,  the  low-thatched  house,  the  pigs,  cows,  horses, 
and  everything  about  the  place.  Everything  was  always 
the  same,  and  I  was  sick  of  looking  at  the  same  things  day 
after  day  for  all  the  days  of  the  year. 

My  mind  was  set  on  leaving  MaCrossan,  though  his  half- 
sister  and  himself  liked  me  better  than  ever  a  servant  was 
liked  before  in  mid  Tyrone.  The  thought  of  leaving  them 
made  me  uncomfortable,  but  the  voice  that  called  me  was 
stronger  than  that  which  urged  me  to  stay.  I  had  a  longing 
for  a  new  place,  and  the  longing  grew  within  me  day  after 
day.  Over  the  hills,  over  the  sea,  and  miles  along  some 
dusty  road  which  I  had  never  seen,  some  great  adventure 
was  awaiting  me.  Nothing  would  keep  me  back,  and  I 
wrote  home  to  my  own  mother,  asking  if  Micky's  Jim  wanted 
any  new  men  to  accompany  him  to  Scotland.  Jim  was 
the  boss  of  a  potato-digging  squad,  and  each  year  a  number 
of  Donegal  men  and  women  worked  with  him  across  the 
water. 

Then  one  fine  morning,  a  week  later,  and  towards  the 
end  of  June,  this  letter  came  from  Micky's  Jim  himself : 

"  DEAR  DERMID, 

"  i  am  riting  you  these  few  lines  to  say  that  i  am 
very  well  at  present,  hoping  this  leter  finds  you  in  the  same 
state  of  health.  Well,  dear  Dermid  i  am  gathering  up  a 
squad  of  men  and  women  to  come  and  work  with  me 
beyont  the  water  to  dig  potatoes  in  Scotland,  there  is  a 


A  GOOD  TIME  61 

great  lot  of  the  Glenmornan  people  coming,  Tom  of  the 
hill,  Neds  hugh,  Red  mick  and  Norah  ryan,  Biddy  flan- 
nery  and  five  or  six  more.  Well  this  is  to  say  that  if  you 
woud  care  to  come  i  will  keep  a  job  open  for  you.  Norah 
ryan,  her  father  was  drounded  fishing  in  Trienna  Bay 
so  she  is  not  going  to  be  a  nun  after  all.  If  you  will  come 
with  me  rite  back  and  say  so.  your  wages  is  going  to  be 
sixteen  shillings  a  week  accordingley.  Steel  away  from 
your  master  and  come  to  deny  peer  and  meet  me  there, 
its  on  the  twenty  ninth  of  the  month  that  we  leave  Glen- 
mornan. 

"  Yours  respectfuly, 

"  JlM  SCANLON." 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  LEADING  ROAD  TO  STRABANE 

"  No  more  the  valley  charms  me  and  no  more  the  torrents  glisten. 
My  love  is  plain  and  homely  and  my  thoughts  are  far  away ; 
The  great  world  voice  is  calling  and  with  throbbing  heart  I  listen, 
And  I  cannot  but  obey  ;  I  cannot  but  obey." 

— From  Songs  of  the  Dead  End. 

ON  the  morning  of  the  twenty-ninth  of  June,  1905, 
I  left  Jim  MaCrossan's,  and  went  out  to  hoe 
turnips  in  a  field  that  lay  nearly  half  a  mile 
away  from  the  farmhouse.  I  had  taken  a  hoe  from  a 
peg  on  the  wall  of  the  barn,  and  had  thrown  it  across  my 
shoulder,  when  MaCrossan  came  up  to  me. 

"  See  an'  don't  be  late  comin'  in  for  yer  dinner,  Dermod," 
he  said.  "  Ye'll  know  the  time  be  the  sun." 

That  was  his  last  speech  to  me,  and  I  was  sorry  at  leaving 
him,  but  for  the  life  of  me  I  could  not  tell  him  of  my 
intended  departure.  There  is  no  happiness  in  leaving 
those  with  whom  we  are  happy.  I  liked  MaCrossan  more 
because  of  his  strength  than  his  kindness.  Once  he  carried 
an  anvil  on  his  back  from  Lisnacreight  smithy  to  his  own 
farmhouse,  a  distance  of  four  miles.  When  he  brought  it 
home  I  could  not  lift  it  off  the  ground.  He  was  a  wonderful 
man,  powerful  as  a  giant,  good  and  kindly-spoken.  I  liked 
him  so  much  that  I  determined  to  steal  away  from  him.  I 
was  more  afraid  of  his  regret  than  I  would  be  of  another 
man's  anger. 

I  slung  the  hoe  over  my  shoulder  and  whistled  a  wee 
tune  that  came  into  my  head  as  I  plodded  down  the  cart- 


THE  LEADING  ROAD  TO  STRABANE  63 

road  that  led  to  the  field  where  the  turnips  were.  The 
young  bullocks  gazed  at  me  over  the  hedge  by  the  wayside, 
and  snorted  in  make-believe  anger  when  I  tried  to  touch 
their  cold  nostrils  with  my  finger-tips.  The  crows  on  the 
sycamore  branches  seemed  to  be  very  friendly  and  merry. 
I  could  almost  have  sworn  that  they  cried,  "  Good  morning, 
Dermod  Flynn,"  as  I  passed  by. 

The  lane  was  alive  with  rabbits  at  every  turn.  I  could 
see  them  peering  out  from  their  holes  under  the  blossomed 
hedgerows  with  wide  anxious  eyes.  Sometimes  they  ran 
across  in  front  of  me,  their  ears  acock  and  their  white  tufts 
of  tails  stuck  up  in  the  air.  I  never  thought  once  of 
flinging  a  stone  at  them  that  morning ;  I  was  out  on  a 
bigger  adventure  than  rabbit -chasing. 

A  little  way  down  I  met  MaCrossan's  half-sister,  Bridgid. 
She  had  just  taken  out  the  cows  and  was  returning  to  the 
house  after  having  fastened  the  slip  rails  on  the  gap  of  the 
pasture  field. 

"  The  top  o'  the  mornin'  to  ye,  Dermod,"  she  cried. 

"  The  same  to  you,"  I  answered. 

She  walked  on,  but  after  she  had  gone  a  little  way,  she 
called  back  to  me. 

"  Will  ye  be  goin'  to  the  dance  in  McKirdy's  barn  on 
Monday  come  a  week  ?  " 

"  I  will,  surely,"  I  replied  across  my  shoulder.  I  did 
not  look  around,  but  I  could  hear  the  soles  of  her  shoes 
rustling  across  the  dry  clabber  as  she  continued  on  her 
journey. 

The  moment  I  entered  the  field  I  flung  the  hoe  into  the 
ditch,  and  crossed  to  the  other  side  of  the  turnip  drills. 
I  put  my  hand  into  the  decayed  trunk  of  a  fallen  tree,  and 
took  out  a  little  bundle  of  clothes  which  was  concealed 
there.  I  had  hidden  the  clothes  when  I  received  Jim 
Scanlon's  letter.  I  hung  the  bundle  over  my  arm,  and  made 
for  the  high-road  leading  to  Strabane.  It  was  nearly  three 


64    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

hours'  walk  to  the  town,  and  the  morning  was  grand.  I  cut 
a  hazel  rod  to  keep  me  company,  and  swung  it  round  in  my 
hand  after  the  manner  of  cattle-drovers.  I  went  on  my 
way  with  long  swinging  strides,  thinking  all  the  time,  not 
of  Micky's  Jim  and  the  Land  Beyond  the  Water,  but  of 
Norah  Ryan  whom  I  would  see  on  'Deny  Pier  with  the  rest 
of  the  potato  squad. 

I  could  have  shouted  with  pure  joy  to  the  people  who 
passed  me  on  the  road.  Most  of  them  bade  me  the  time  of 
day  with  the  good-natured  courtesy  of  the  Irish  people. 
The  red-faced  farmer's  boy,  who  sat  on  the  jolting  cart, 
stopped  his  sleepy  horse  for  a  minute  to  ask  me  where  I 
was  bound  for. 

"  Just  to  Strabane  to  buy  a  new  rake,"  I  told  him,  for 
grown-up  men  never  tell  their  private  affairs  to  other 
people. 

"  Troth,  it's  for  an  early  harvest  that  same  rake  will  be," 
he  said,  and  flicked  his  horse  on  the  withers  with  his  whip. 
Then,  having  satisfied  his  curiosity,  he  passed  beyond  the 
call  of  my  voice  for  ever. 

A  girl  who  stood  with  her  back  to  the  roses  of  a  roadside 
cottage  gave  me  a  bowl  of  milk  when  I  asked  for  a  drink 
of  water.  She  was  a  taking  slip  of  a  girl,  with  soft  dreamy 
eyes  and  red  cherry  lips. 

"  Where  would  ye  be  goin'  now  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I'm  goin'  to  Strabane." 

"  And  what  would  ye  be  doin'  there  ?  " 

"  My  people  live  there,"  I  said. 

"  It's  ye  that  has  the  Donegal  tongue,  and  be  the  same 
token  ye're  a  great  liar,"  said  the  girl,  and  I  hurried  off. 

A  man  gave  me  a  lift  on  the  milk-cart  for  a  mile  of  the 
way.  "  Where  are  ye  goin'  ?  "  he  asked  me. 

"  To  Strabane  to  buy  a  new  spade,"  I  told  him. 

"  It's  a  long  distance  to  go  for  a  spade,"  he  said  with  a 
laugh.  "  D'ye  know  what  I  think  ye  are  ?  " 


THE  LEADING  ROAD  TO  STRABANE    65 

"  What  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Ye're  a  cub  that  has  ran  away  from  his  master,"  said 
the  man.  "  If  the  pleece  get  ye  ye'll  go  to  jail  for  brekin' 
a  contract." 

I  slid  out  of  the  cart,  pulling  my  bundle  after  me,  and 
took  to  my  heels  along  the  dry  road.  "  Wan  cannot  see 
yer  back  for  dust,"  the  man  shouted  after  me,  and  he  kept 
roaring  aloud  for  a  long  while.  Soon,  however,  I  got  out 
of  the  sound  of  his  voice,  and  I  slowed  down  and  recovered 
my  wind.  About  fifteen  minutes  later  I  overtook  an  old 
withered  woman,  lean  as  a  rake,  who  was  talking  to  her- 
self. I  walked  with  her  for  a  long  distance,  but  she  was  so 
taken  up  with  her  own  troubles  that  she  had  not  a  word  for 
me. 

"  Is  it  on  a  day  like  this,"  the  old  body  was  saying  aloud 
to  herself,  "  that  the  birds  sing  loud  on  the  trees,  and  the 
sun  shines  for  all  he  is  worth  in  the  hollow  of  the  sky,  a 
day  when  the  cruel  hand  of  God  strikes  heavy  on  me  heart, 
and  starves  the  blood  in  me  veins  ?  Who  at  all  would 
think  that  me  little  Bridgid  would  go  so  soon  from  her  own 
door,  and  the  fire  on  her  own  hearthstone,  into  the  land 
where  the  cold  of  death  is  and  the  darkness  ?  Mother  of 
God  !  be  good  to  a  poor  old  woman,  but  it's  bitter  that  I 
am,  bekase  she  was  tuk  away  from  me,  lavin'  me  alone  in 
me  old  age  with  no  wan  sib  to  meself ,  to  sleep  under  me  own 
roof.  Well  do  I  mind  the  day  when  little  Bridgid  came. 
That  day,  my  good  man  Fergus  himself  was  tuk  away 
from  me,  but  I  wasn't  as  sorry  as  an  old  woman  might  be 
for  her  man,  for  she  was  there  with  the  black  eyes  of  her 
lookin'  into  me  own  and  never  speakin'  a  word  at  all,  at  all. 
Then  she  grew  big,  with  the  gold  on  her  hair,  and  the  redness 
on  her  mouth,  and  the  whiteness  of  the  snow  on  her  teeth. 
'Tis  often  meself  would  watch  her  across  the  half-door, 
when  she  was  a-chasin'  the  geese  in  the  yard,  or  pullin' 
the  feathers  from  the  wings  of  the  ducks  in  the  puddle. 

F 


66    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

And  I  would  say  to  meself  :  '  What  man  will  take  her  away 
from  her  old  mother  some  fine  mornin'  and  lave  me  lonely 
be  the  fire  in  the  evenin'  ?  '  And  no  man  came  at  all,  at 
all,  to  take  her,  and  now  she's  gone.  The  singin'  birds 
are  in  the  bushes,  and  the  sun  is  laughin',  the  latch  of  me 
door  is  left  loose,  but  she'll  not  come  back,  no  matter  what 
I  do.  So  I  do  be  trampin'  about  the  roads  with  the  sweat 
on  me,  and  the  shivers  of  cold  on  me  at  the  same  time, 
gettin'  a  handful  of  meal  here,  and  a  goupin  of  pratees  there, 
and  never  at  all  able  to  forget  that  I  am  lonely  without 
her." 

I  left  the  woman  and  her  talk  behind  me  on  the  road, 
and  I  thought  it  a  strange  thing  that  anyone  could  be  sorry 
when  I  was  so  happy.  In  a  little  while  I  forgot  all  about 
her,  for  my  eyes  caught  the  chimneys  of  Strabane  sending 
up  their  black  smoke  into  the  air,  and  I  heard  some  church 
clock  striking  out  the  hour  of  noon. 

It  was  well  on  in  the  day  when  I  got  the  'Deny  train, 
but  on  the  moment  I  set  my  foot  on  the  pier  by  the  water- 
side I  found  Micky's  Jim  sitting  on  a  capstan  waiting  for 
me.  He  was  chewing  a  plug  of  tobacco,  and  spitting  into 
the  water. 

"  Work  hasn't  done  ye  much  harm,  Dermod  Flynn,  for 
ye've  grown  to  be  a  big,  soncy  man,"  was  Jim's  greeting, 
and  I  felt  very  proud  of  myself  when  he  said  these  words. 


CHAPTER  XI 
THE  'DERRY  BOAT 

"  Bad  cess  to  the  boats  !  for  it's  few  they  take  back  of  the  many 
they  take  away." — A  GLENMORNAN  SAYING. 

JIM  and  I  had  a  long  talk  together,  and  I  asked  him 
about  the  people  at  home,  my  father  and  mother, 
the  neighbours,  their  doings,  their  talk,  and  all  the 
rest  of  the  little  things  that  went  to  make  up  the  world  of 
the  Glenmornan  folk.  In  return  for  his  information  I 
told  Jim  about  my  life  in  Tyrone,  the  hardships  of  Bennet's 
place,  the  poor  feeding,  the  hard  work,  the  loneliness,  and, 
above  all,  the  fight  in  the  bedroom  where  I  gave  Joe  Bennet 
one  in  the  stomach  that  made  him  sick  for  two  hours  after- 
wards. 

"  That's  the  only  thing  that  a  Glenmornan  man  could 
do,"  said  Micky's  Jim,  when  I  told  him  of  the  fight. 

Afterwards  we  sauntered  along  the  wharf  together, 
waiting  for  the  other  members  of  the  party,  who  had  gone 
to  the  Catholic  chapel  in  'Deny  to  say  their  prayers  before 
leaving  their  own  country.  Everything  I  saw  was  a 
source  of  wonder  to  me.  I  lived  many  miles  from  the  sea 
at  home,  and  only  once  did  I  even  see  a  fishing-boat. 
That  was  years  before,  when  I  passed  Boon  Ferry  on  my 
way  to  the  Holy  Well  of  Iniskeel.  There  did  I  see  the 
fishing-boats  of  Trienna  lying  by  the  beach  while  the  fisher- 
men mended  their  nets  on  the  foreshore.  Out  by  the  rim 
of  the  deep-sea  water  the  bar  was  roaring,  and  a  line  of 
restless  creamy  froth  stretched  across  the  throat  of  the  bay, 


68    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

like  the  bare  white  arms  of  a  girl  who  bathes  in  a  darksome 
pool.  I  asked  one  of  the  fishers  if  he  would  let  me  go  with 
him  across  the  bar.  He  only  laughed  at  me  and  said  that 
it  would  suit  me  far  better  to  say  my  prayers. 

For  the  whole  of  the  evening  I  could  not  take  my  eyes 
off  the  boats  that  lay  by  'Deny  Pier.  Micky's  Jim  took 
no  notice  of  them,  because  he  had  seen  them  often  enough 
before. 

"  Ye'll  not  wonder  much  at  ships  when  ye've  seen  them 
as  much  as  I've  seen  them,"  he  said. 

We  sought  out  our  own  boat,  and  Jim  said  that  she  was  a 
rotten  tub  when  he  had  examined  her  critically  with  his 
eyes  for  a  moment. 

"  It'll  make  ye  as  sick  as  a  dog  goin'  roun'  the  Moils  o' 
Kentire,"  he  said.  "  Ye'll  know  what  it  is  to  be  sea-sick 
this  night,  Dermod." 

We  went  on  board,  and  waited  for  the  rest  of  the  party  to 
come  along.  While  waiting  Jim  prowled  into  the  cook's 
galley  and  procured  two  cups  of  strong  black  tea,  which 
we  drank  together  on  deck. 

It  was,  "  Under  God,  the  day  an'  the  night,  ye've  grown 
to  be  a  big  man,  Dermod,"  and  "  Ye're  a  soncy  rung  o'  a 
fellow  this  minute,  Dermod  Flynn,"  when  the  people  from 
my  own  arm  of  the  Glen  came  up  the  deck  and  saw  me  there 
along  with  Micky's  Jim.  Many  of  the  squad  were  old 
stagers  who  had  been  in  the  country  across  the  water  before. 
They  planted  their  patch  of  potatoes  and  corn  in  their 
little  croft  at  home,  then  went  to  Scotland  for  five  or  six 
months  in  the  middle  of  the  year  to  earn  money  for  the 
rent  of  their  holding.  The  land  of  Donegal  is  bare  and 
hungry,  and  nobody  can  make  a  decent  livelihood  there 
except  landlords. 

The  one  for  whom  I  longed  most  was  the  last  to  come, 
and  when  I  saw  her  my  heart  almost  stopped  beating.  She 
was  the  same  as  ever  with  her  soft  tender  eyes  and  sweet 


THE  'DERRY  BOAT  69 

face,  that  put  me  in  mind  of  the  angels  pictured  over  the 
altar  of  the  little  chapel  at  home.  Her  hair  fell  over  her 
shawl  like  a  cascade  of  brown  waters,  her  forehead  was 
white  and  pure  as  marble,  her  cheeks  seemed  made  of  rose- 
leaf,  of  a  pale  carnation  hue,  and  her  fair  light  body, 
slender  as  a  young  poplar,  seemed  too  holy  for  the  contact 
of  the  cold  world.  She  stepped  up  the  gang-plank,  slowly 
and  timidly,  for  she  was  afraid  of  the  noise  and  shouting 
of  the  place. 

The  boat's  derricks  creaked  angrily  on  their  pivots,  the 
gangways  clattered  loudly  as  they  were  shifted  here  and 
there  by  noisy  and  dirty  men,  and  the  droves  of  bullocks, 
fresh  from  the  country  fairs,  bellowed  unceasingly  as  they 
were  hammered  into  the  darkness  of  the  hold.  On  these 
things  I  looked  with  wonder,  Norah  looked  with  fright. 

All  evening  I  had  been  thinking  about  her,  and  the  words 
of  welcome  which  I  would  say  to  her  when  we  met.  When 
she  came  on  deck  I  put  out  my  hand,  but  couldn't  for  the 
life  of  me  say  a  word  of  greeting.  She  was  the  first  to 
speak. 

"  Dermod  Flynn,  I  hardly  knew  ye  at  all,"  she  said  with  a 
half -smile  on  her  lips.  "  Ye  got  very  big  these  last  two 
years." 

"  So  did  you,  Norah,"  I  answered,  feeling  very  glad 
because  she  had  kept  count  of  the  time  I  was  gone.  "  You 
are  almost  as  tall  as  I  am." 

"  Why  wouldn't  I  be  as  tall  as  ye  are,"  she  answered  with 
a  full  smile.  "  Sure  am  I  not  a  year  and  two  months 
older  ?  " 

Some  of  the  other  women  began  to  talk  to  Norah,  and  I 
turned  to  look  at  the  scene  around  me.  The  sun  was 
setting,  and  showed  like  a  red  bladder  in  the  pink  haze  that 
lay  over  the  western  horizon.  The  Foyle  was  a  sheet  of 
wavy  molten  gold  which  the  boat  cut  through  as  she  sped 
out  from  the  pier.  The  upper  deck  was  crowded  with 


70    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

people  who  were  going  to  Scotland  to  work  for  the  summer 
and  autumn.  They  were  all  very  ragged,  both  women  and 
men  ;  most  of  the  men  were  drunk,  and  they  discussed, 
quarrelled,  argued,  and  swore  until  the  din  was  deafening. 
Little  heed  was  taken  by  them  of  the  beauty  of  the  evening, 
and  all  alone  I  watched  the  vessel  turn  up  a  furrow  of  gold 
at  the  bow  until  my  brain  was  reeling  with  the  motion  of 
the  water  that  sobbed  past  the  sides  of  the  steamer,  and 
swept  far  astern  where  the  line  of  white  churned  foam  fell 
into  rank  with  the  sombre  expanse  of  sea  that  we  were 
leaving  behind. 

Many  of  the  passengers  were  singing  songs  of  harvest- 
men,  lovers,  cattle-drovers,  and  sailors.  One  man,  a  hairy, 
villainous-looking  fellow,  stood  swaying  unsteadily  on  the 
deck  with  a  bottle  of  whisky  in  one  hand,  and  roaring  out 
"  Judy  Brannigan." 

"  Oh  !  Judy  Brannigan,  ye  are  me  darlin', 
Ye  are  me  lookin'  glass  from  night  till  mornin' — 
I'd  rather  have  ye  without  wan  farden, 
Than  Shusan  Gallagheer  with  her  house  and  garden." 

Others  joined  in  mixing  up  half  a  dozen  songs  in  one 
musical  outpouring,  and  the  result  was  laughable  in  the 
extreme. 

"  If  all  the  young  maidens  were  ducks  in  the  water, 

'Tis  then  the  young  men  would  jump  out  and  swim  after  .  . 
"I'm  Barney  O'Hare  from  the  County  Clare 

I'm  an  Irish  cattle  drover, 

I'm  not  as  green  as  ye  may  think 

Although  I'm  just  new -over  .   .  ." 
"  For  a  sailor  courted  a  farmer's  daughter 

That  lived  convainint  to  the  Isle  of  Man  .   .  ." 
"  As  beautiful  Kitty  one  mornin'  was  trippin' 

With  a  pitcher  of  milk  to  the  fair  of  Coleraine 

And  her  right  f ol  the  dol  right  fol  the  doddy, 

Right  fol  the  dol,  right  fol  the  dee." 

I  could  not  understand  what  "  right  fol  the  dol,"  etc., 
meant,  but  I  joined  in  the  chorus  when  I  found  Micky's 


THE   'DERRY  BOAT  71 

Jim  roaring  out  for  all  he  was  worth  along  with  the  rest. 

There  were  many  on  board  who  were  full  of  drink  and 
fight,  men  who  were  ready  for  quarrels  and  all  sorts  of 
mischief.  One  of  these,  a  man  called  O'Donnel,  paraded 
up  and  down  the  deck  with  an  open  clasp-knife  in  his  hand, 
speaking  of  himself  in  the  third  person,  and  inviting  every- 
body on  board  to  fistic  encounter. 

"  This  is  young  O'Donnel  from  the  County  Donegal," 
he  shouted,  alluding  to  himself,  and  lifting  his  knife  which 
shone  red  with  the  blood  hues  of  the  sinking  sun.  "  And 
young  O'Donnel  doesn't  care  a  damn  for  a  man  on  this 
bloody  boat.  I  can  fight  like  a  two-year-old  bullock.  A 
blow  of  me  fist  is  like  a  kick  from  a  young  colt,  and  I  don't 
care  a  damn  for  a  man  on  this  boat.  Not  for  a  man  on 
this  boat  !  I'm  a  Rosses  man,  and  I  don't  care  a  damn  for 
a  man  on  this  boat  !  " 

He  looked  terrible  as  he  shouted  out  his  threats.  One 
eyebrow  was  cut  open  and  the  flesh  hung  down  even  as  far 
as  his  cheekbone.  I  could  not  take  my  eyes  away  from  him, 
and  he  suddenly  noticed  me  watching  his  antics.  Then  he 
slouched  forward  and  hit  me  on  the  face,  knocking  me  down. 
The  next  instant  Micky's  Jim  was  on  top  of  him,  and  I  saw 
as  if  in  a  dream  the  knife  flying  over  the  side  of  the  vessel 
into  the  sea.  Then  I  heard  my  mate  shouting,  "  Take 
that,  you  damned  brat — and  that — and  that !  "  He 
hammered  O'Donnel  into  insensibility,  and  by  the  time 
I  regained  my  feet  they  were  carrying  the  insensible  man 
below.  I  felt  weak  and  dizzy.  Jim  took  me  to  a  seat,  and 
Norah  Ryan  bathed  my  cheek,  which  was  swollen  and 
bleeding. 

"  It  was  a  shame  to  hit  ye,  Dermod,"  she  said  more  than 
once  as  she  rubbed  her  soft  fingers  on  the  wound.  Somehow 
I  was  glad  of  the  wound,  because  it  won  such  attention  from 
Norah. 

The   row   between   O'Donnel   and  Jim  was  only    the 


72    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

beginning  of  a  wild  night's  fighting.  All  over  the  deck  and 
down  in  the  steerage  the  harvestmen  and  labourers  fought 
one  with  another  for  hours  on  end.  Over  the  bodies  of  the 
women  who  were  asleep  in  every  corner,  over  coils  of  ropes, 
trunks  and  boxes  of  clothes,  the  drunken  men  struggled  like 
demons.  God  knows  what  they  had  to  quarrel  about  ! 
When  I  could  not  see  them  I  could  hear  them  falling  heavily 
as  cattle  fall  amid  a  jumble  of  twisted  hurdles,  until  the  drink 
and  exertion  overpowered  them  at  last.  One  by  one  they 
fell  asleep,  just  where  they  had  dropped  or  on  the  spot  where 
they  were  knocked  down. 

Towards  midnight,  when,  save  for  the  thresh  of  the  pro- 
pellers and  the  pulsing  of  the  engines,  all  was  silent,  I 
walked  towards  the  stern  of  the  boat.  There  I  found 
Norah  Ryan  asleep,  her  shawl  drawn  over  her  brown  hair, 
and  the  rising  moon  shining  softly  on  her  gentle  face.  For 
a  moment  I  kept  looking  at  her ;  then  she  opened  her  eyes 
and  saw  me. 

"  Sit  beside  me,  Dermod,"  she  said.  "  It  will  be  warmer 
for  two." 

I  sat  down,  and  the  girl  nestled  close  to  me  in  the  dark- 
ness. The  sickle  moon  drifted  up  the  sky,  furrowing  the 
pearl-powdered  floor  with  its  silver  front.  Far  away  on 
the  Irish  coast  I  could  see  the  lights  in  the  houses  along- 
shore. When  seated  a  while  I  found  Norah's  hand  resting 
in  mine,  and  then,  lulled  with  the  throb  of  the  engine 
and  the  weeping  song  of  the  sea,  I  fell  into  a  deep  sleep, 
forgetting  the  horror  of  the  night  and  the  red  wound  on  my 
face  where  O'Donnel  had  struck  me  with  his  fist. 

Dawn  was  breaking  when  I  awoke.  Norah  still  slept, 
her  head  close  against  my  arm,  and  her  face,  beautiful 
in  repose,  turned  towards  mine.  Her  cherry-red  lips 
lay  apart,  and  I  could  see  the  two  rows  of  pearly 
white  teeth  between.  The  pink  tips  of  her  ears  peeped 
from  amid  the  coils  of  her  hair,  and  I  placed  my  hand  on  her 


THE  'DERRY   BOAT  73 

head  and  stroked  her  brown  tresses  ever  so  softly.  She 
woke  so  quietly  that  the  change  from  sleeping  to  waking 
was  hardly  noticeable.  The  traces  of  dim  dreams  were  yet 
in  her  eyes,  and  as  I  watched  her  my  mind  was  full  of 
unspoken  thoughts. 

"  Have  ye  seen  Scotland  yet,  Dermod  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  That's  it,  I  think,"  I  said,  as  I  pointed  at  the  shore- 
line visible  many  miles  away. 

"  Isn't  it  like  Ireland."  Norah  nestled  closer  to  me  as 
she  spoke.  "  I  would  like  to  be  goin'  back  again,"  she  said 
after  a  long  silence. 

"I'm  going  to  make  a  great  fortune  in  Scotland,  Norah," 
I  said.  "  And  I'm  going  to  make  you  a  great  lady." 

"  Why  are  ye  goin'  to  do  that  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  confessed,  and  the  two  of  us  laughed 
together. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  WOMAN  WHO  WAS  NOT  ASHAMED 

"  '  Tell  the  truth  and  shame  the  devil,'  they  say.  Well,  to  tell 
you  the  truth,  there  are  some  truths  which  would  indeed  shame 
the  devil  !  " — MOLESKIN  JOE. 

THE  potato  merchant  met  us  on  Greenock  quay 
next  morning,  and  here  Micky's  Jim  marshalled 
his  squad,  which  consisted  in  all  of  twenty-one 
persons.  Seventeen  of  these  came  from  Ireland,  and  the 
remainder  were  picked  up  from  the  back  streets  of  Greenock 
and  Glasgow.  With  the  exception  of  two,  all  the  Irish 
women  were  very  young,  none  of  them  being  over  nineteen 
years  of  age,  but  the  two  extra  women  needed  for  the  squad 
were  withered  and  wrinkled  harridans  picked  from  the 
city  slums.  These  women  met  us  on  the  quay. 

"  D'ye  see  them  ?  "  Micky's  Jim  whispered  to  me. 
"  They  cannot  make  a  livin'  on  the  streets,  so  they  have  to 
come  and  work  with  us.  What  d'ye  think  of  them  ?  " 

"  I  don't  like  the  look  of  them,"  I  said. 

The  potato  merchant  hurried  us  off  to  Buteshire  the 
moment  we  arrived,  and  we  started  work  on  a  farm  at  mid- 
day. The  way  we  had  to  work  was  this.  Nine  of  the 
older  men  dug  the  potatoes  from  the  ground  with  short 
three-pronged  graips.  The  women  followed  behind,  crawl- 
ing on  their  knees  and  dragging  two  baskets  a-piece  along 
with  them.  Into  these  baskets  they  lifted  the  potatoes 
thrown  out  by  the  men.  When  the  baskets  were  filled 
I  emptied  the  contents  into  barrels  set  in  the  field  for  that 


WOMAN  WHO  WAS  NOT  ASHAMED  75 

purpose.  These  barrels  were  in  turn  sent  off  to  the  markets 
and  big  towns  which  we  had  never  seen. 

The  first  day  was  very  wet,  and  the  rain  fell  in  torrents, 
but  as  the  demand  for  potatoes  was  urgent  we  had  to  work 
through  it  all.  The  job,  bad  enough  for  men,  was  killing 
for  women.  All  day  long,  on  their  hands  and  knees,  they 
dragged  through  the  slush  and  rubble  of  the  field.  The 
baskets  which  they  hauled  after  them  were  cased  in  clay 
to  the  depth  of  several  inches,  and  sometimes  when  emptied 
of  potatoes  a  basket  weighed  over  two  stone.  The  strain 
on  the  women's  arms  must  have  been  terrible.  But  they 
never  complained.  Pools  of  water  gathered  in  the  hollows 
of  the  dress  that  covered  the  calves  of  their  legs.  Some- 
times they  rose  and  shook  the  water  from  their  clothes,  then 
went  down  on  their  knees  again.  The  Glasgow  women 
sang  an  obscene  song,  "  just  by  way  o'  passing  the  time," 
one  of  them  explained,  and  Micky's  Jim  joined  in  the 
chorus.  Two  little  ruts,  not  at  all  unlike  the  furrows  left 
by  a  coulter  of  a  skidding  plough,  lay  behind  the  women  in 
the  black  earth.  These  were  made  by  their  knees. 

We  left  off  work  at  six  o'clock  in  the  evening,  and  turned 
in  to  look  up  our  quarters  for  the  night.  We  had  not  seen 
them  yet,  for  we  started  work  in  the  fields  immediately 
on  arriving.  A  byre  was  being  prepared  for  our  use,  and 
a  farm  servant  was  busily  engaged  in  cleaning  it  out  when 
we  came  in  from  the  fields.  He  was  shoving  the  cow-dung 
through  a  trap-door  into  a  vault  below.  The  smell  of 
the  place  was  awful.  There  were  ten  cattle  stalls  in  the 
building,  five  on  each  side  of  the  raised  concrete  walk  that 
ran  down  the  middle  between  two  sinks.  These  stalls  were 
our  sleeping  quarters. 

The  byre  was  built  on  the  shoulder  of  a  hillock  and  the 
midden  was  situated  in  a  grotto  hollowed  underneath  ;  its 
floor  was  on  a  level  with  the  cart-road  outside,  and  in  the 
corner  of  this  vault  we  had  to  build  a  fire  for  cooking  our 


76    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

food.  A  large  dung-hill  blocked  the  entrance,  and  we  had 
to  cross  this  to  get  to  the  fire  which  sparkled  brightly 
behind.  Around  the  blaze  we  dried  our  sodden  clothes, 
and  the  steam  of  the  drying  garments  rose  like  a  mist 
around  us. 

One  of  the  strange  women  was  named  Gourock  Ellen, 
which  goes  to  show  that  she  had  a  certain  fame  in  the  town 
of  that  name.  The  day's  drag  had  hacked  and  gashed  her 
knees  so  that  they  looked  like  minced  flesh  in  a  butcher's 
shop  window.  She  showed  her  bare  knees,  and  was 
not  in  the  least  ashamed.  I  turned  my  head  away  hurriedly, 
not  that  the  sight  of  the  wounds  frightened  me,  but  I 
felt  that  I  was  doing  something  wrong  in  gazing  at  the 
bare  leg  of  a  woman.  I  looked  at  Norah  Ryan,  and  the 
both  of  us  blushed  as  if  we  had  been  guilty  of  some 
shameful  action.  Gourock  Ellen  saw  us,  and  began  to 
sing  a  little  song  aloud : 

"  When  I  was  a  wee  thing  and  lived  wi'  my  granny, 
Oh  !  it's  many  a  caution  my  granny  gi'ed  me, 
She  said  :  '  Now  be  wise  and  beware  o'  the  boys, 
And  don't  let  the  petticoats  over  your  knee.'  " 

When  she  finished  her  verse  she  winked  knowingly  at 
Micky's  Jim,  and,  strange  to  say,  Jim  winked  back. 

We  boiled  a  pot  of  potatoes,  and  poured  the  contents 
into  a  wicker  basket  which  was  placed  on  the  floor  of  the 
vault.  Then  all  of  us  sat  down  together  and  ate  our 
supper  like  one  large  family,  and  because  we  were  very 
hungry  did  not  mind  the  reeking  midden  behind  us. 

During  our  meal  an  old  bent  and  wrinkled  man  came 
hobbling  across  the  dung-heap  towards  the  fire.  His 
clothing  was  streaming  wet  and  only  held  together  by 
strings,  patches,  and  threads.  He  looked  greedily  towards 
the  fire,  and  Gourock  Ellen  handed  him  three  hot  potatoes. 

"  God  bless  ye,"  said  the  man  in  a  thin  piping  voice. 
"  It's  yerself  that  has  the  kindly  heart,  good  woman." 


WOMAN  WHO  WAS  NOT  ASHAMED  77 

He  ate  hurriedly  like  a  dog,  as  if  afraid  somebody  would 
snatch  the  bread  from  between  his  jaws.  He  must 
have  been  very  hungry,  and  I  felt  sorry  for  the  man.  I 
handed  him  the  can  of  milk  which  I  had  procured  at  the 
farmhouse,  and  he  drank  the  whole  lot  at  one  gulp. 

"  It's  yerself  that  is  the  dacent  youngster,  God  bless 
ye  !  "  he  said,  and  there  were  tears  in  his  eyes.  "  And 
isn't  this  a  fine  warm  place  ye  are  inside  of  this  wet  night." 

The  smell  of  the  midden  was  heavy  in  my  nostrils,  and 
the  smoke  of  the  fire  was  paining  my  eyes. 

"  It's  a  rotten  place,"  I  said. 

"  Sure  and  it's  not  at  all,"  said  the  man  in  a  pleading 
voice.  "  It's  better  than  lyin'  out  under  a  wet  hedge  with 
the  rain  spat-spatterin'  on  yer  face." 

"  Why  do  you  lie  under  a  hedge  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Sure,  no  one  wants  me  at  all,  at  all,  because  of  the  pain 
in  me  back  that  won't  let  me  stoop  over  me  work,"  said 
the  man.  "  In  the  farms  they  say  to  me,  '  Go  away,  we 
don't  want  ye  '  ;  in  the  village  they  say,  '  Go  away,  we're 
sick  of  lookin'  at  ye,'  and  what  am  I  to  do  ?  Away  in  me 
own  country,  that  is  Mayo,  it's  always  the  welcome  hand 
and  a  bit  and  sup  when  a  man  is  hungry,  but  here  it's  the 
scowling  face  and  the  ill  word  that  is  always  afore  an  old 
man  like  me." 

One  by  one  the  women  went  away  from  the  fire,  for  they 
were  tired  from  their  day's  work  and  wanted  to  turn  into 
bed  as  early  as  possible.  The  old  man  sat  by  the  fire 
looking  into  the  flames  without  taking  any  heed  of  those 
around  him.  Jim  and  I  were  the  last  two  to  leave  the  fire, 
and  my  friend  shook  the  old  man  by  the  shoulder  before 
he  went  out. 

"  What  are  ye  goin'  to  do  now  ?  "  asked  Jim, 

"  Maybe  ye'd  let  me  sleep  beside  the  fire  till  the  morra 
mornin',"  said  the  man. 

"  Ye  must  go  out  of  here,"  said  Jim. 


78    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

"  Let  him  stay,"  I  said,  for  I  felt  sorry  for  the  poor  old 
chap. 

Jim  thought  for  a  minute.  "  Well,  I'll  let  him  stay,  cute 
old  cadger  though  he  is,"  he  said,  and  the  both  of  us  went 
into  the  byre  leaving  the  old  man  staring  dreamily  into  the 
flames. 

One  blanket  apiece  was  supplied  to  us  by  the  potato 
merchant,  and  by  sleeping  two  in  a  bed  the  extra  blanket 
was  made  to  serve  the  purpose  of  a  sheet.  We  managed 
to  make  ourselves  comfortable  by  sewing  bags  together 
in  the  form  of  a  coverlet  and  placing  the  make-shift  quilts 
over  our  bodies. 

"  Where  is  Norah  Ryan  ?  "  asked  Micky's  Jim,  as  he 
finished  using  his  pack-needle  on  the  quilts  which  he  was 
preparing  for  our  use.  Jim  and  I  were  to  sleep  in  the  one 
stall 

Norah  Ryan  was  not  to  be  seen,  and  I  went  out  to  the 
fire  to  find  if  she  was  there.  From  across  the  black  midden 
I  looked  into  the  vault  which  was  still  dimly  lighted  up  by 
the  dying  flames,  and  there  I  saw  Norah  speaking  to  the 
old  man.  She  was  on  the  point  of  leaving  the  place,  and  I 
saw  some  money  pass  from  her  hand  to  that  of  the  stranger. 

"  God  be  good  to  ye,  decent  girl,"  I  heard  the  man  say, 
as  Norah  took  her  way  out.  I  hid  in  the  darkness  and 
allowed  her  to  pass  without  seeing  me.  Afterwards  I  went 
in  and  gave  a  coin  to  the  old  man.  He  still  held  the  one 
given  by  Norah  between  his  fingers,  and  it  was  a  two- 
shilling  piece.  Probably  she  had  not  another  in  her  pos- 
session. What  surprised  me  most  was  the  furtive  way  in 
which  she  did  a  kindness.  For  myself,  when  doing  a  good 
action,  I  like  everybody  to  notice  it. 

In  the  byre  there  was  no  screen  between  the  women  and 
the  men.  The  modesty  of  the  young  girls,  when  the  hour 
for  retiring  came  around,  was  unable  to  bear  this.  The 
strange  women  did  not  care  in  the  least. 


WOMAN  WHO  WAS  NOT  ASHAMED  79 

The  Irish  girls  sat  by  their  bedsides  and  made  no  sign 
of  undressing.  I  slid  into  bed  quietly  with  my  trousers 
still  on  ;  most  of  the  men  stripped  with  evident  unconcern, 
nakedly  and  shamelessly. 

"  The  darkness  is  a  good  curtain  if  the  women  want  to 
take  off  their  clothes,"  said  Micky's  Jim,  as  he  extinguished 
the  only  candle  in  the  place.  He  re-lit  a  match  the  next 
moment,  and  there  was  a  hurried  scampering  under  the 
blankets  in  the  stalls  on  the  other  side  of  the  passage. 

"  That's  a  mortal  sin,  Micky's  Jim,  that  ye're  doin'," 
said  Norah  Ryan,  and  the  two  strange  women  laughed 
loudly  as  if  very  much  amused  at  persons  who  were  more 
modest  than  themselves. 

"  Who  are  ye  lyin'  with,  Norah  Ryan  ?  Is  it  Gourock 
Ellen  ?  "  asked  my  bedmate. 

"  It  is,"  came  the  answer. 

"  D'ye  hear  that,  Dermod — a  nun  and  a  harridan  in  one 
bed  ?  "  said  Jim  under  his  breath  to  me. 

Outside  the  raindrops  were  sounding  on  the  roof  like 
whip-lashes.  Jim  spoke  again  in  a  drowsy  voice. 

"  We're  keepin'  some  poor  cows  from  their  warm  beds 
to-night,"  he  said. 

I  kept  awake  for  a  long  while,  turning  thoughts  over  in 
my  mind.  The  scenes  on  the  'Derry  boat,  and  my  recent 
experience  in  the  soggy  fields,  had  taken  the  edge  off  the 
joy  that  winged  me  along  the  leading  road  to  Strabane. 
I  was  now  far  out  into  the  heart  of  the  world,  and  life 
loomed  darkly  before  me.  The  wet  day  went  to  crush 
my  dreams  and  the  ardour  of  my  spirits.  Hitherto  I  had 
great  belief  in  women,  their  purity,  virtue,  and  gentle- 
ness. But  now  my  grand  dreams  of  pure  womanhood  had 
collapsed.  The  foul  words,  the  loose  jokes  and  obscene 
songs  of  the  two  women  who  were  strangers,  the  hard, 
black,  bleeding  and  scabby  knees  that  Gourock  Ellen  showed 
to  us  at  the  fire  had  turned  my  young  visions  into  night- 


8o    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

mares.  The  sight  of  the  girls  ploughing  through  the  mucky 
clay,  and  the  wolfish  stare  of  the  old  man  who  envied  those 
who  fed  beside  a  dungheap  were  repellent  to  me.  I  looked 
on  life  in  all  its  primordial  brutishness  and  found  it  loath- 
some to  my  soul. 

Only  that  morning  coming  up  the  Clyde,  when  Norah 
and  I  looked  across  the  water  to  a  country  new  to  both  of 
us,  my  mind  was  full  of  dreams  of  the  future.  But  the 
rosy-tinted  boyish  dreams  of  morning  were  shattered  before 
the  fall  of  night.  Maybe  the  old  man  who  lay  by  the  dung- 
heap  came  to  Scotland  full  of  dreams  like  mine.  Now  the 
spirit  was  crushed  out  of  him  ;  he  was  broken  on  the  wheel 
of  life,  and  he  had  neither  courage  to  rob,  sin,  nor  die.  He 
could  only  beg  his  bit  and  apologise  for  begging.  The  first 
day  in  Scotland  disgusted  me,  made  me  sick  of  life,  and  if  it 
were  not  that  Norah  Ryan  was  in  the  squad  I  would  go 
back  to  Jim  MaCrossan's  farm  again. 

That  night,  as  for  many  nights  before,  I  turned  into  bed 
without  saying  my  prayers,  and  I  determined  to  pray  no 
more.  I  had  been  brought  up  a  Catholic,  and  to  believe  in  a 
just  God,  and  the  eternal  fire  of  torments,  but  daily  newer 
and  stranger  thoughts  were  coming  into  my  mind.  Even 
when  working  with  MaCrossan  in  the  meadowlands  my 
mind  reverted  to  the  little  book  in  which  I  read  the  story 
of  the  heavens.  God  behind  His  million  worlds  had  no 
time  to  pay  any  particular  attention  to  me.  This  thought 
I  tried  to  drive  away,  for  the  Church  had  still  a  strong  hold 
on  me,  and  anything  out  of  keeping  with  my  childish  creed 
entered  my  mind  like  a  nail  driven  into  the  flesh.  The  new 
thoughts,  however,  persisted,  they  took  form  and  became 
part  of  my  being.  The  change  was  gradual,  for  I  tried 
desperately  to  reject  the  new  idea  of  the  universe  and  God. 
But  the  sight  of  the  women  in  the  fields,  the  story  of  the 
old  man  with  the  pain  in  his  back  who  slept  under  a  wet 
hedge  was  to  me  conclusive  proof  that  God  took  no  interest 


WOMAN  WHO  WAS  NOT  ASHAMED    81 

in  the  personal  welfare  of  men.  And  when  I  gripped  the 
new  idea  as  incontestable  truth  it  did  not  destroy  my  belief 
in  God.  Only  the  God  of  my  early  days,  the  God  who^took 
a  personal  interest  in  my  welfare,  was  gone. 

Sometimes  the  rest  of  the  Catholic  members  of  the  squad 
went  to  chapel,  when  the  farm  on  which  we  wrought  was 
near  a  suitable  place  of  worship,  but  I  never  went.  Their 
visits  were  few  and  far  between,  for  we  were  distant  from 
the  big  towns  most  of  the  time. 

We  seldom  stopped  longer  than  one  fortnight  at  a  time 
on  any  farm.  We  shifted  about  here  and  there,  digging 
twenty  acres  for  one  farmer,  ten  for  another,  living  in  byres, 
pig-stys  and  barns,  and  taking  life  as  we  found  it.  Daily 
we  laboured  together,  the  men  bent  almost  double  over 
their  graips,  throwing  out  the  potatoes  to  the  girls  who 
followed  after,  dragging  their  bodies  through  the  mire 
and  muck  like  wounded  animals,  and  I  lifted  the  baskets 
of  potatoes  and  filled  the  barrels  for  market.  Still,  for  all 
the  disadvantages,  life  was  happy  enough  to  me,  because 
Norah  Ryan  was  near  me  working  in  the  fields. 

But  the  life  was  brutal,  and  almost  unfit  for  animals. 
One  night  when  we  were  asleep  in  a  barn  the  rain  came 
through  the  roof  and  flooded  the  earthen  floor  to  a  depth 
of  several  inches.  Our  beds  being  wet  through,  we  had  to 
rise  and  stand  for  the  remainder  of  the  night  knee-deep 
in  the  cold  water. 

When  morning  came  we  went  out  to  work  in  the  wet 
fields. 

Once  when  living  in  a  pig-sty  we  were  bothered  by  rats. 
When  we  were  at  work  they  entered  our  habitation,  ran- 
sacked the  packets  of  food,  gnawed  our  clothes,  and  upset 
everything  in  the  place.  They  could  only  get  in  by  one 
entrance,  a  hole  in  the  wall  above  my  bed,  and  by  that 
same  way  they  had  to  go  out.  After  a  little  while  the 
rats  became  bolder  and  came  in  by  night  when  we  were 

G 


82    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

asleep.  One  night  I  awoke  to  find  them  jumping  down 
from  the  aperture,  landing  on  my  body  in  their  descent. 
Then  they  scampered  away  and  commenced  prowling 
around  for  food.  I  counted  twenty  thuds  on  my  breast, 
then  stuck  my  trousers  in  the  throat  of  the  opening  above 
my  bed  and  wakened  Jim,  who  snored  like  a  hog  through 
it  all.  We  got  up  and  lit  a  candle.  When  the  rats  saw 
the  light  they  hurried  back  to  their  hole,  but  we  were 
ready  and  waiting  for  them,  Micky's  Jim  with  a  shovel 
shaft,  and  I  with  a  graip  shank.  We  killed  them  as  they 
came,  all  except  one,  which  ran  under  the  bed-clothes 
of  Norah  Ryan's  bed.  There  was  great  noise  of  scream- 
ing for  a  while,  but  somehow  or  another  Gourock  Ellen 
got  hold  of  the  animal  and  squeezed  it  to  death  under 
the  blankets.  I  left  my  trousers  in  the  aperture  all  night, 
and  they  were  nibbled  almost  to  pieces  in  the  morning. 
They  were  the  only  ones  in  my  possession,  and  I  had  to 
borrow  a  pair  from  Jim  for  the  next  day. 

The  fanner  gave  us  a  halfpenny  for  every  rat's  tail 
handed  in,  as  he  wanted  to  get  rid  of  the  pests,  and  from  that 
time  forward  Jim  and  I  killed  several,  and  during  the  re- 
mainder of  the  season  we  earned  three  pounds  between 
us  by  hunting  and  killing  rats.  Gourock  Ellen  sometimes 
joined  in  the  hunt,  by  way  of  amusement,  but  her  principal 
relaxation  was  getting  drunk  on  every  pay-day. 

The  other  woman,  whose  name  was  Annie,  usually  accom- 
panied her  on  Saturday  to  the  nearest  village,  and  the  two 
of  them  got  full  together.  They  also  shared  their  food 
in  common,  but  often  quarrelled  among  themselves  over 
one  thing  and  another.  They  fought  like  cats  and  swore 
awfully,  using  the  most  vile  language,  but  the  next  moment 
they  were  the  best  of  friends  again.  One  Saturday  night 
they  returned  from  a  neighbouring  village  with  two  tramp 
men.  Micky's  Jim  chased  the  two  men  away  from  the 
byre  in  which  we  were  living  at  the  time. 


WOMAN  WHO  WAS  NOT  ASHAMED    83 

"  I'll  have  no  whorin'  about  this  place,"  he  said. 

"  You're  a  damned  religious  beast  to  be  livin'  in  a  cow- 
shed," said  one  of  the  tramps. 

One  day  Gourock  Ellen  asked  me  who  did  my  washing, 
though  I  believe  that  she  knew  I  washed  my  own  clothes 
with  my  own  hands. 

"  Myself,"  I  said  in  reply  to  Ellen's  inquiry. 

"  Will  yer  own  country  girls  not  do  it  for  you  ?  " 

"  I  can  do  it  myself,"  I  replied. 

When  I  looked  for  my  soiled  under-garments  a  week  later 
I  could  not  find  them.  I  made  inquiries  and  found  that 
Gourock  Ellen  had  washed  them  for  me. 

"  It's  a  woman's  work,"  she  said,  when  I  talked  to  her, 
and  she  washed  my  clothes  to  the  end  of  the  season  and 
would  not  accept  payment  for  the  work. 

Nearly  everyone  in  the  squad  looked  upon  the  two 
women  with  contempt  and  disgust,  and  I  must  confess 
that  I  shared  in  the  general  feeling.  In  my  sight  they  were 
loathsome  and  unclean.  They  were  repulsive  in  appear- 
ance, loose  in  language,  and  seemingly  devoid  of  any  moral 
restraint  or  female  decency.  It  was  hard  to  believe  that 
they  were  young  children  once,  and  that  there  was  still 
unlimited  goodness  in  their  natures.  Why  had  Gourock 
Ellen  handed  the  potatoes  to  the  old  Mayo  man  who  was 
hungry,  and  why  had  she  undertaken  to  do  my  washing 
without  asking  for  payment  ?  I  could  not  explain  these 
impulses  of  the  woman,  and  sometimes,  indeed,  I  cannot 
explain  my  own.  I  cannot  explain  why  I  then  disliked 
Gourock  Ellen,  despite  what  she  had  done  for  me,  and 
to-day  I  regret  that  ignorance  of  youth  which  caused  me  to 
despise  a  human  being  who  was  (as  after  events  proved) 
infinitely  better  than  myself. 


CHAPTER    XIII 

THE  MAN  WITH  THE  DEVII/S   PRAYER  BOOK 

"  He  would  gamble  on  his  father's  tombstone  and  play  banker  with 
the  corpse." — A  KINLOCHLEVEN  PROVERB. 

THE  middle  of  September  was  at  hand,  and  a 
slight  tinge  of  brown  was  already  showing  on  the 
leaves.  We  were  now  working  on  a  farm  where 
the  River  Clyde  broadens  out  to  the  waters  of  the  deep 
ocean.  One  evening,  when  supper  was  over,  I  went  out 
alone  to  the  fields  and  sat  down  on  the  green  sod  and  looked 
outwards  to  the  grey  horizon  of  the  sea.  Beside  me  ran  a 
long  avenue  of  hazel  bushes,  and  a  thrush  was  singing  on  a 
near  bough,  his  amber  and  speckled  bosom  quivering  with 
the  passion  of  his  song.  The  sun  had  already  disappeared, 
trailing  its  robe  of  carmine  from  off  the  surface  of  the  far 
water,  and  an  early  star  was  already  keeping  its  watch 
overhead.  All  at  once  the  bushes  of  the  hazel  copse 
parted  and  Norah  Ryan  stood  before  me. 

"  Is  it  here  that  ye  are,  Dermod,  lookin'  at  the  sea  ?  " 

"  I  was  looking  at  the  star  above  me,"  I  replied. 

Norah  had  discarded  her  working  clothes,  and  now  wore 

a  soft  grey  tweed  dress  that  suited  her  well.    Together 

we  looked  up  at  the  star,  and  then  my  eyes  fell  on  the  sweet 

face  of  my  companion.     In  the  shadow  of  her  hair  I  could 

see  the  white  of  her  brow  and  the  delicate  and  graceful 

curve  of  her  neck.     Her  brown  tresses  hung  down  her  back 

even  as  far  as  her  waist,  and  the  wind  ruffled  them  ever 

so  slightly.     Somehow  my  thoughts  went  back  to  the  June 


THE  DEVIL'S  PRAYER  BOOK   85 

seaweed  rising  and  falling  on  the  long  heaving  waves  of 
Trienna  Bay.  She  noticed  me  looking  at  her,  and  she 
sat  down  on  the  sod  beside  me. 

"  Why  d'ye  keep  watchin'  me  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  answered  in  a  lame  sort  of  way,  for 
I  am  not  good  at  making  excuses.  I  was  afraid  to  tell  her 
that  I  liked  the  whiteness  of  her  brow,  the  softness  of  her 
hair,  and  the  wonderful  glance  of  her  eyes.  No  doubt  she 
would  have  laughed  at  me  if  I  did. 

"  Do  you  mind  the  night  on  the  'Deny  boat  ?  "  I  asked. 
"  All  that  night  when  you  were  asleep,  I  had  your  hand  in 
mine." 

"  I  mind  it  very  well." 

As  she  spoke  she  closed  her  fingers  over  mine  and  looked 
at  me  in  the  eyes.  The  glance  was  one  of  a  moment ; 
our  gaze  met  and  the  next  instant  Norah's  long  lashes 
dropped  slowly  and  modestly  over  the  grey  depths  of  her 
eyes.  There  was  something  strange  in  that  look  of  hers  ; 
it  was  the  glance  of  a  soul  which  did  not  yet  know  itself, 
full  of  radiant  awakening  and  wonderful  promise.  In  it 
was  all  the  innocence  of  the  present  and  passion  of  the 
future ;  it  was  the  glance  both  of  a  virgin  and  a  woman. 
We  both  trembled  and  looked  up  at  the  stars  that  came  out 
one  by  one  into  the  broad  expanse  of  heaven.  The  thrush  had 
gone  away,  and  a  little  wind  played  amongst  the  branches 
of  the  trees.  In  the  distance  we  could  hear  the  water 
breaking  on  the  foreshore  with  a  murmurous  plaint  that 
was  full  of  longing.  We  kept  silence,  for  the  spell  of  the 
night  was  too  holy  to  be  broken  by  words.  How  long  we 
remained  there  I  do  not  know,  but  when  we  returned  to 
the  byre  all  the  rest  of  the  party  were  in  bed.  Next  night 
I  waited  for  her  in  the  same  place  and  she  came  again,  and 
for  many  nights  afterwards  we  watched  the  stars  coming 
out  while  listening  to  the  heart  song  of  the  sea. 

One  wet  evening,  early  in  October,  when  Norah  and  I 


86    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

were  sitting  by  the  fire  in  the  cart-shed  that  belonged  to 
a  farmer  near  Greenock,  talking  to  Micky's  Jim  about 
Glenmornan  and  the  people  at  home,  a  strange  man  came 
to  the  farmyard.  Although  a  stranger  to  me,  Micky's 
Jim  knew  the  fellow  very  well,  for  he  belonged  to  a  neigh- 
bouring village,  was  a  noted  gambler,  and  visited  the  squad 
every  year.  He  sat  down  and  warmed  his  hands  at  the 
fire  while  he  looked  critically  at  the  members  of  the  squad 
who  had  come  in  to  see  him. 

"  Have  ye  the  devil's  prayer  book  with  ye  ?  "  asked  Jim. 

"  That  I  have,"  answered  the  man,  drawing  a  pack  of 
cards  from  his  pocket.  "  Will  we  have  a  bit  o'  the  Gospel 
o'  Chance  ?  " 

The  body  of  a  disused  cart  was  turned  upside  down,  and 
six  or  seven  men  belonging  to  the  squad  sat  around  it  and 
commenced  to  gamble  for  money  with  the  stranger.  For 
a  long  while  I  watched  the  play,  and  at  last  put  a  penny 
on  a  card  and  won.  I  put  on  another  penny  and  another 
and  won  again  and  again,  for  my  luck  was  good.  It  was 
very  interesting.  We  gambled  until  five  o'clock  in  the 
morning  and  at  the  finish  of  the  game  I  had  profited  to  the 
extent  of  twenty-five  shillings.  During  the  game  I  had 
eyes  for  nothing  else  ;  the  women  had  gone  to  bed,  but  I 
never  noticed  their  departure,  for  my  whole  mind  was  given 
up  to  the  play.  All  day  following  I  looked  forward  to  the 
evening  and  the  return  of  the  man  with  the  devil's  prayer 
book,  and  when  he  came  I  was  one  of  the  first  to  give  a 
hand  to  turn  the  disused  cart  upside  down.  The  farmer's 
son,  Alec  Morrison,  a  strong,  well-knit  youth,  barely  out 
of  his  teens,  came  in  to  see  the  play  and  entered  into  con- 
versation with  Norah  Ryan.  He  worked  as  a  bank  clerk 
in  Paisley,  but  spent  every  week-end  at  his  father's  farm. 
He  was  a  well-dressed  youth  ;  wore  boots  which  were 
always  clean,  and  a  gold  ring  with  a  blue  stone  in  the  centre 
of  it  shone  on  one  of  his  fingers.  I  took  little  heed  of  him, 


THE  DEVIL'S  PRAYER  BOOK   87 

for  my  whole  being  was  centred  on  the  game  and  my  luck 
was  good. 

"  Come  Hallow  E'en  I'll  have  plenty  of  money  to  take 
home  to  Glenmornan,"  I  said  to  myself,  more  than  once, 
for  on  the  second  night  I  won  over  thirty  shillings. 

The  third  night  was  against  me — the  third  time,  the 
gambler's  own  ! — and  afterwards  I  lost  money  every  night. 
But  I  could  not  resist  the  call  of  the  cards,  the  school 
fascinated  me,  and  the  sight  of  a  winner's  upturned  "  flush  " 
or  "  run  "  set  my  veins  on  fire.  So  I  played  night  after 
night  and  discussed  the  chances  of  the  game  day  after  day, 
until  every  penny  in  my  possession  was  in  the  hands  of  the 
man  with  the  devil's  prayer  book.  Before  I  put  my  first 
penny  on  a  card  I  had  seven  pounds  in  gold,  which  I  intended 
to  take  home  to  my  people  in  Glenmornan.  Now  it  was 
all  gone.  Gourock  Ellen  offered  me  ten  shillings  to  start 
afresh,  but  I  would  not  accept  her  money.  Norah  Ryan 
took  no  interest  in  the  game,  her  whole  attention  was  now 
given  up  to  the  farmer's  son,  and  it  was  only  when  I  had 
spent  my  last  penny  that  I  became  aware  of  the  fact.  He 
came  in  to  see  her  every  evening  and  passed  hour  after 
hour  in  her  company.  I  did  not  like  this  ;  I  felt  angry 
with  her  and  with  myself,  and  I  hated  the  farmer's  son.  I 
had  many  dreams  of  a  future  in  which  Norah  would  play  a 
prominent  part,  but  now  all  my  dreams  were  dashed  to 
pieces.  Although  outwardly  I  showed  no  trace  of  my 
feelings  I  felt  very  miserable.  Norah  took  no  delight  in  my 
company  any  more,  all  her  spare  time  was  given  up  to  Alec 
Morrison.  The  cards  did  not  interest  me  any  longer.  I 
hated  them,  and  considered  that  they  were  the  cause  of  my 
present  misfortune.  If  I  had  left  them  alone  and  paid 
more  attention  to  Norah  she  would  not  have  taken  so 
much  pleasure  in  the  other  man's  company. 

I  nursed  my  mood  for  a  fortnight,  then  I  turned  to  the 
cards  again  and  lost  all  the  money  in  my  possession.     On 


88    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

the  first  week  of  November,  when  the  squad  broke  up,  I  had 
the  sum  of  twopence  in  my  pocket.  On  the  evening  prior 
to  the  day  of  the  squad's  departure,  I  came  suddenly  round 
the  corner  of  the  hayshed  by  the  farmhouse  and  saw  a  very 
curious  thing.  Norah  was  standing  there  with  the  farmer's 
son  and  he  was  kissing  her.  I  came  on  the  two  of  them 
suddenly,  and  when  Norah  saw  me  she  ran  away  from  the 
man. 

I  had  never  thought  of  kissing  Norah  when  she  was  alone 
with  me.  It  was  a  very  curious  thing  to  do,  and  it  never 
entered  into  my  mind.  Perhaps  if  I  had  kissed  her  when 
we  were  together  she  would  like  me  the  more  for  it.  Why 
I  should  kiss  her  was  beyond  my  reasoning.  All  I  knew 
was  that  I  longed  for  Norah  with  a  great  longing.  I  was 
now  discouraged  and  despondent.  I  felt  that  I  had  nothing 
to  live  for  in  the  world.  To-morrow  the  rest  of  the  party 
would  go  away  to  their  homes  with  their  earnings  and  I 
would  be  left  alone.  I  could  not  think  for  a  moment  of 
going  home  penniless.  I  would  stay  in  Scotland  until  I 
earned  plenty  of  money,  and  go  home  a  rich  man.  I  had  not 
given  up  thoughts  of  becoming  rich.  A  hundred  pounds 
to  me  was  a  fortune,  fifty  pounds  was  a  large  amount, 
and  twenty  pounds  was  a  sum  which  I  might  yet  possess. 
If  I  lived  long  enough  I  might  earn  a  whole  twenty,  or 
maybe  fifty  pounds.  I  had  heard  of  workers  who  had 
earned  as  much.  For  the  whole  season  I  had  only  sent  two 
pounds  home  to  my  own  people,  while  I  spent  seven  on  the 
cards.  I  played  cards  because  I  wanted  to  make  a  bigger 
pile.  Now  I  had  but  twopence  left  in  my  possession  ! 

The  squad  broke  up  next  day,  and  Norah  Ryan 
had  hardly  a  word  to  say  to  me  when  bidding  good-bye, 
but  she  had  two  hours  to  spare  for  leave-taking  with 
Morrison,  who,  although  it  was  now  the  middle  of  the 
week,  a  time  when  he  should  be  at  business  in  the  bank, 
had  come  to  spend  a  day  on  the  farm.  No  doubt  he 


THE  DEVIL'S  PRAYER  BOOK   89 

had  come  to  bid  Norah  good-bye.  Micky's  Jim  was  going 
home  to  Ireland,  and  Gourock  Ellen  and  Annie  said  that 
they  were  going  to  Glasgow  to  get  drunk  on  their  last 
week's  pay. 

It  was  afternoon  when  the  party  broke  up  and  set  out 
for  the  railway  station,  and  a  heavy  snow  was  lying  on  the 
ground.  I  got  turned  out  of  the  byre  by  the  farmer  when 
the  rest  went  off,  and  I  found  myself  in  a  strange  country, 
houseless,  friendless,  and  alone. 

The  road  lay  behind  me  and  before  me,  and  where  was 
I  to  turn  ?  This  was  the  question  that  confronted  me  as 
I  went  out,  ragged  and  shivering,  into  the  cold  snow  with 
nothing,  save  twopence,  between  me  and  the  cold  chance 
charity  of  the  world.  A  man  can't  get  much  foi  twopence. 
While  working  there  was  byre  or  pig-sty  for  shelter ;  when 
idle  I  was  not  worth  the  shelter  of  the  meanest  roof  in  the 
whole  country.  I  walked  along,  my  mind  confused  with 
various  thoughts,  and  certain  only  of  one  thing.  I  must 
look  for  work.  But  God  alone  knew  how  long  it  would 
be  until  I  got  a  job  !  I  was  only  a  boy  who  thought  that 
he  was  a  man,  and  it  was  now  well  into  early  winter.  There 
was  very  little  work  to  be  done  at  that  season  of  the  year 
on  farms  or,  indeed,  anywhere.  A  man  might  get  a  job  ; 
a  boy  had  very  little  chance  of  finding  employment.  My 
clothes  were  threadbare,  my  boots  were  leaking,  and  the 
snow  was  on  the  ground.  I  felt  cold  and  lonely  and  a  little 
bit  tired  of  life. 

Suddenly  I  met  Gourock  Ellen,  and  it  came  to  me  that  I 
was  travelling  towards  the  station.  I  thought  that  the 
woman  was  returning  for  something  which  she  had  for- 
gotten, but  I  was  mistaken. 

"  I  came  back  tae  see  you,  Dermod,"  she  said. 

"  Why  ?  "  I  asked  in  surprise. 

"  I  thought  up  tae  the  very  last  minute  that  you  were 
goin'  hame  till  Ireland,  but  Jim  Scanlon  has  tellt  me  at 


90    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

the  station  that  you  are  goin'  tae  stop  here.     He  says  that 
you  have  ower  a  pound  in  siller.     Is  that  so  ?  " 

"  That's  so,"  I  lied,  for  I  disliked  to  be  questioned  in 
such  a  manner.  I  told  Jim  that  I  had  a  pound  in  my 
possession.  Otherwise  he  would  have  prevailed  upon  me 
to  accept  money  from  himself.  But  I  am  too  proud  to 
accept  a  favour  of  that  kind. 

"  I've  been  watchin'  you  at  the  cards,  Dermod,  and  I 
know  the  kin'  o'  luck  you  had,"  said  Gourock  Ellen.  "  Ye'll 
hardly  have  yin  penny  left  at  this  very  minute.  Six 
shillin's,  half  of  my  last  week's  pay,  would  d'you  no  harm, 
if  you'd  care  to  take  it." 

"  I  don't  want  it,"  I  said. 

"  Then  you  don't  know  what  it  is  to  fast  for  hours  on  end, 
to  get  turned  away  from  every  door  with  kicks  and  curses, 
and  to  have  the  dogs  of  the  country  put  after  your  heels." 

"  I  don't  want  your  money,"  I  said,  for  I  could  not  accept 
money  from  such  a  woman. 

"  I  liked  you  from  the  first  time  I  saw  you,  gin  that  I 
am  a  bad  woman  itself,"  she  said,  as  if  divining  my  thoughts. 
"  And  I  dinna  like  to  see  you  goin'  out  on  the  cauld  roads 
with  not  a  copper  in  your  pockets.  I'm  auld  enough  to  be 
your " 

Her  cheeks  gave  the  faintest  suspicion  of  a  blush,  and  she 
stopped  speaking  for  just  a  second,  leaving  the  last  word, 
which  no  doubt  she  intended  to  speak,  unuttered  on  her 
tongue. 

"  You  can  have  half  of  my  money  if  you  want  it,  and  if 
you  like  you  can  come  with  me  tae  Glesga,  and  I'll  find  you 
a  bed  and  bite  until  you  get  a  job." 

"  I'm  not  going  to  Glasgow,"  I  said,  for  it  was  not  in  my 
heart  to  go  into  the  one  house  with  that  woman.  I  could 
not  explain  my  dislike  for  her  company,  but  I  preferred 
the  cold  night  and  the  snow  to  the  bed  and  bite  which  she 
promised  me. 


THE  DEVIL'S  PRAYER  BOOK   91 

"  Well,  you  can  take  the  couple  o'  shillin's  anyway," 
she  persisted  ;  "  they'll  do  you  no  ill." 

"  I  don't  want  your  money,"  I  said  for  the  third  time. 

"  Twas  earned  decently,  anyway,"  she  said.  "  I  canna 
see  why  you'll  no  take  it.  Will  you  bid  me  good-bye, 
Dermod  ?  " 

She  put  out  her  hand  to  me  as  she  spoke,  and  I  pressed 
it  warmly,  for  in  truth  I  was  glad  to  get  rid  of  her.  Sud- 
denly she  reached  forward  and  kissed  me  on  the  cheek ; 
then  hurried  away,  leaving  me  alone  on  the  roadway.  The 
woman's  kiss  disconcerted  me,  and  I  suddenly  felt  ashamed 
of  my  coldness  towards  her.  She  was  kind-hearted  and 
considerate,  and  I  was  a  brute.  I  looked  after  her.  When 
she  would  turn  round  I  would  call  to  her  to  stop,  and  I  would 
go  with  her  to  Glasgow.  The  thought  of  spending  the 
night  homeless  on  the  bleak  road  frightened  me.  She 
reached  the  corner  of  the  road  and  went  out  of  my  sight 
without  ever  turning  round.  I  looked  at  the  two  coppers 
which  I  possessed,  and  wondered  why  I  hadn't  taken  the 
money  which  Gourock  Ellen  offered  me.  I  also  wondered 
why  she  had!kissed  me. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

PADDING  IT 

"  A  nail  in  the  sole  of  your  bluchers  jagging  your  foot  like  a  pin, 
And  every  step  of  the  journey  driving  it  further  in  ; 
Then  out  on  the  great  long  roadway,  you'll  find  when  you  go 

abroad, 
The  nearer  you  go  to  nature,  the  further  you  go  from  God." 

— A  Song  of  the  Dead  End. 

OUT  on  tramp,  homeless  in  a  strange  country,  with 
twopence  in  my  pocket  !  The  darkness  lay 
around  me  and  the  snow  was  white  on  the  ground. 
Whenever  I  took  my  hands  out  of  my  pockets  the  chill 
air  nipped  them  like  pincers.  One  knee  was  out  through 
my  trousers,  and  my  boots  were  leaking.  The  snow  melted 
as  it  came  through  the  torn  uppers,  and  I  could  hear  the 
water  gurgling  between  my  toes  as  I  walked.  When  I 
passed  a  lighted  house  I  felt  a  hunger  that  was  not  of  the 
belly  kind.  I  came  to  the  village  of  Bishopton,  and  went 
into  a  little  shop,  where  I  asked  for  a  pennyworth  of  biscuits. 
The  man  weighed  them  in  scales  that  shone  like  gold,  and 
broke  one  in  halves  to  make  the  exact  weight. 

"  There's  nothin'  like  fair  measure,  laddie,"  he  said. 

"  Is  there  any  chance  of  a  man  getting  a  job  about  this 
district  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  What  man  ?  "  said  the  shopkeeper. 

"  Me,"  I  said. 

"  Get  out,  ye  scamp  !  "  roared  the  man.  "  It  would  be 
better  for  you  to  go  to  bed  instead  of  tryin'  to  take  a  rise 
out  of  yer  betters." 


PADDING  IT  93 

"  You  are  an  old  pig  !  "  I  shouted  at  the  man,  for  I  did 
not  like  his  way  of  speaking,  and  disappeared  into  the 
darkness.  I  ate  the  biscuits,  but  felt  hungrier  after  my 
meal  than  I  was  before  it. 

The  night  was  calm  and  deadly  cold.  Overhead  a  very 
pale  moon  forged  its  way  through  a  heaven  of  stars.  On 
such  a  night  it  is  a  pleasure  to  sit  before  a  nice  warm  fire 
on  a  well-swept  hearth.  I  had  no  fire,  no  home,  no  friends  ; 
nothing  but  the  bleak  road  and  the  coldness.  I  kept 
walking,  walking.  I  knew  that  it  would  be  unwise  to  sit 
down  :  perhaps  I  would  fall  asleep  and  die.  I  did  not 
want  to  die.  It  was  so  much  better  to  walk  about  on  the 
roads  of  a  strange  country  in  which  there  was  nobody  to 
care  what  became  of  me ;  no  one  except  an  old  harridan, 
and  she  was  far  away  from  me  now.  The  love  of  life  was 
strong  within  me,  for  I  was  very  young,  and  never  did  I 
cling  closer  to  life  than  I  did  at  that  moment  when  it  was 
blackest.  My  thoughts  went  to  the  future  and  the  good 
things  which  might  lie  before  me. 

"  I'll  get  a  job  yet,"  I  said  to  myself.  "  I'll  walk  about 
until  I  meet  somebody  who  needs  me.  Then  I'll  grow  up 
in  years  and  work  among  men,  maybe  getting  a  whole 
pound  a  week  as  my  pay.  A  pound  a  week  is  a  big  wage, 
and  it  will  amount  to  a  lot  in  a  year.  I  will  pay  ten  shillings 
a  week  for  my  keep  in  some  lodging-house,  as  Micky's  Jim 
had  done  when  he  worked  on  Greenock  pier,  and  I  will 
save  the  other  half-sovereign.  Ten  shillings  a  week  amounts 
to  twenty-six  pounds  a  year.  In  ten  years  I  shall  save 
two  hundred  and  sixty  pounds.  Such  a  big  lump-sum  of 
money  !  Two  hundred  and  sixty  pounds  ! 

"  It  will  be  hard  to  keep  a  wife  on  a  pound  a  week,  but 
I  will  always  remain  single,  and  send  my  money  home  to 
my  own  people.  If  I  don't,  I'll  never  have  any  luck.  I 
will  never  gamble  again.  Neither  will  I  marry,  for  women 
are  no  earthly  use,  anyway.  They  get  old,  wrinkled,  and 


94    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

fat  very  quickly.  They  are  all  alike,  every  one  of 
them." 

I  found  my  thoughts  wandering  from  one  subject  to 
another  like  those  of  a  person  who  is  falling  asleep. 
Anyhow,  I  had  something  to  live  for,  so  I  kept  walking, 
walking  on. 

I  was  in  the  open  country,  and  I  did  not  know  where  the 
road  was  leading  to,  but  that  did  not  matter.  I  was  as  near 
home  in  one  place  as  in  another. 

From  one  point  of  the  sky,  probably  the  north,  I  saw  the 
clouds  rising,  covering  up  the  stars,  and  at  last  blotting 
the  moon  off  the  sky  as  a  picture  is  wiped  off  a  slate.  It 
was  more  dismal  than  ever  when  the  moon  and  stars  were 
gone,  for  now  I  was  alone  with  the  night  and  the  darkness. 
I  could  hear  the  wind  as  it  passed  through  the  telegraph 
wires  by  the  roadside.  It  was  a  weeping  wind,  and  put  me 
in  mind  of  the  breeze  calling  down  the  chimney  far  away 
at  home  in  Glenmornan. 

A  low  bent  man  came  out  of  the  darkness  and  shuffled 
by.  "  It  looks  like  snow,"  he  said,  in  passing. 

"  It  does,"  I  replied.  I  could  not  see  his  face,  but  his 
voice  was  kindly.  He  shuffled  along.  Perhaps  he  was 
going  home  to  a  warm  supper  and  bed.  I  did  not  know, 
and  I  wondered  who  the  man  was. 

Suddenly  the  snow  from  the  darkness  above  drifted 
down  and  my  clothes  were  white  in  an  instant.  My  bare 
knee  became  very  cold,  for  the  flakes  melted  on  it  as  they 
fell.  The  snow  ran  down  my  legs  and  made  me  shiver.  I 
took  off  my  muffler  and  tied  it  around  the  hole  in  my 
trousers  to  prevent  the  snowflakes  from  getting  in.  I 
felt  wearied  and  cold,  but  after  a  while  I  got  very  angry.  I 
got  angry,  not  with  myself,  but  with  the  wind,  the  snow, 
my  leaky  boots  and  ragged  clothes.  I  was  angry  with  the 
man  who  carried  the  devil's  prayer  book,  and  also  with  the 
man  who  broke  a  biscuit  in  two  because  he  was  an  honest 


PADDING  IT  95 

body  and  a  believer  in  fair  measure.  Perhaps  I  ought  to 
have  been  angry  with  myself,  for  did  I  not  spend  all  my 
money  at  the  card  school,  and  was  it  not  my  own  fault  that 
now  I  had  only  one  penny  in  my  possession  ?  If  I  had  saved 
my  money  like  Micky's  Jim  I  would  have  now  eight  or 
nine  pounds  in  my  pocket. 

Suddenly  the  snow  cleared,  and  my  eyes  fell  on  a  farm- 
house hardly  a  stone's-throw  away  from  the  road.  Think- 
ing that  I  might  get  a  shed  to  lie  in  I  went  towards  it. 
There  was  no  light  showing  in  the  house  and  it  must  have 
been  long  after  midnight.  As  I  approached  a  dog  ran  at 
me  yelping.  I  turned  and  fled,  but  the  dog  caught  my 
trousers  and  hung  on,  trying  to  fasten  his  teeth  in  my  leg. 
I  twisted  round  and  swung  him  clear,  then  lifted  my  boot 
and  aimed  a  blow  at  the  animal  which  took  him  on  the  jaw. 
His  teeth  snapped  together  like  a  trap,  and  he  ran  back 
squealing.  I  took  to  my  heels  and  returned  to  the  road. 
From  there  I  saw  a  light  in  the  farmhouse,  so  I  ran  quicker 
than  ever.  I  was  frightened  at  what  I  had  done  ;  I  had 
committed  a  crime  in  looking  for  a  night's  shelter  along 
with  the  beasts  of  the  byre.  I  could  not  get  sleeping  with 
men ;  I  was  not  a  man.  I  could  not  get  sleeping  in  a  shed  ; 
I  was  not  even  a  brute  beast.  I  was  merely  a  little  boy 
who  was  very  hungry,  ragged,  and  tired. 

I  ran  for  a  long  distance,  and  was  sweating  all  over  when 
I  stopped.  I  stood  until  I  got  cool,  then  continued  my 
walking,  walking  through  the  darkness.  I  was  still  walking 
when  the  day  broke  cold  and  cheerless.  I  met  a  navvy 
going  to  his  work  and  I  asked  him  for  a  penny.  He  had 
no  money,  but  he  gave  me  half  of  the  food  which  he  had 
brought  from  home  for  his  daily  meal. 

On  the  outskirts  of  Paisley  I  went  to  the  door  of  a 
mansion  to  ask  for  a  penny.  A  man  opened  the  door. 
He  was  a  fat  and  comfortable-looking,  round-paunched 
fellow.  He  told  me  to  get  off  before  the  dog  was  put 


96    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

after  me.  I  hurried  off,  and  forsook  the  big  houses  after- 
wards. 

Once  in  Paisley  I  sat  down  on  a  kerbstone  under  the 
Caledonian  Railway  Bridge  in  Moss  Street.  I  fell  asleep, 
and  slept  until  a  policeman  woke  me  up. 

"  Go  away  from  here  !  "  he  roared  at  me.     I  got  away. 

A  gang  of  men  were  laying  down  tramway  rails  on  the 
street  and  I  went  forward  and  asked  the  overseer  for  a 
job.  He  laughed  at  me  for  a  minute,  then  drew  his  gang 
around  to  examine  me. 

"  He's  a  fine  bit  o'  a  man,"  said  one. 

"  He's  shouthered  like  a  rake,"  said  another. 

Discomfited  and  disgusted  I  hurried  away  from  the 
grinning  circle  of  men,  and  all  day  long  I  travelled  through 
the  town.  I  soon  got  tired  of  looking  for  work,  and  instead 
I  looked  for  food.  I  was  very  unsuccessful,  and  youth  is 
the  time  for  a  healthy  appetite.  I  spent  my  last  penny 
on  a  bun,  and  when  it  was  dark  I  got  a  crust  from  a  night 
watchman  who  sat  in  a  little  hut  by  the  tram-lines.  About 
midnight  I  left  the  town  and  went  into  the  country.  The 
snow  was  no  longer  falling,  but  a  hard  frost  had  set  in. 
About  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  I  lay  down  on  the  cold 
ground  utterly  exhausted,  and  fell  asleep.  When  dawn 
came  I  rose,  and  shivering  in  every  limb  I  struck  out  once 
more  on  my  journey.  I  looked  for  work  on  the  farms 
along  the  road,  but  at  every  place  I  was  turned  away. 

"  Go  back  to  the  puirs'  house,"  said  every  second  or 
third  farmer. 

I  went  to  one  farmhouse  when  the  men  were  coming 
out  from  dinner. 

"  Are  you  lookin'  for  a  job  ?  "  asked  a  man,  whom  I  took 
to  be  master. 

"  I  am,"  I  answered. 

"  Then  give  us  a  hand  in  the  shed  for  a  while,"  he  said. 

I  followed  the  party  into  a  large  building  where  imple- 


PADDING  IT  97 

ments  were  stored,  and  the  men  gathered  round  a  broken 
reaper  which  had  to  be  taken  out  into  the  open. 

"  Help  us  out  with  this,"  said  the  farmer  to  me. 

There  were  six  of  us  altogether,  and  three  went  to  each 
side  of  the  machine  and  caught  hold  of  it. 

"  Now,  lift !  "  shouted  the  farmer. 

The  men  at  the  other  side  lifted  their  end,  but  ours 
remained  on  the  ground  despite  all  efforts  to  raise  it. 

"  Damn  you,  lift !  "  said  my  two  mates  angrily  to  me. 

I  put  all  my  energy  into  the  work,  but  the  cold  and 
hunger  had  taken  the  half  of  my  strength  away.  We 
could  not  lift  the  machine  clear  of  the  ground.  The  farmer 
got  angry. 

"  Get  out  of  my  sight,  you  spineless  brat !  "  he  roared 
to  me,  and  I  left  the  farmyard.  When  I  came  to  the  high- 
road again  there  were  tears  in  my  eyes.  They  were  tears 
of  shame  ;  I  was  ashamed  of  my  own  weakness. 

For  a  whole  week  afterwards  I  tramped  through  the 
country,  hating  all  men,  despised  by  everyone,  and  angry 
with  my  own  plight.  A  few  gave  me  food,  some  cursed 
me  from  their  doors,  and  a  great  number  mocked  me  as 
I  passed.  "  Auld  ragged  breeks  !  "  the  children  of  the 
villages  cried  after  me.  "  We're  sick  o'  lookin'  at  the 
likes  o'  you  !  "  the  fat  tubs  of  women,  who  stood  by  their 
cottage  doors,  said  when  I  asked  them  for  something  to 
eat.  Others  would  say  :  "  Get  out  o'  our  sight,  or  we'll 
tell  the  policeman  about  you.  Then  you'll  go  to  the 
lock-up,  where  you'll  only  get  bread  and  water  and  a  bed 
on  a  plank." 

Such  a  dreadful  thing  !  It  shocked  me  to  think  of  it, 
and  for  a  while  I  always  hurried  away  when  women  spoke 
in  such  a  manner.  However,  in  the  end,  suffering  caused 
me  to  change  my  opinions.  A  man  with  an  empty  stomach 
may  well  prefer  bread  and  water  to  water,  a  bed  on  a 
plank  to  a  bed  on  the  snow,  and  the  roof  of  a  prison  to 

H 


98    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

the  cold  sky  over  him.  So  it  was  that  I  came  into  Paisley 
again  at  the  end  of  the  week  and  asked  a  policeman  to 
arrest  me.  I  told  him  that  I  was  hungry  and  wanted 
something  to  eat.  The  man  was  highly  amused. 

"  You  must  break  the  law  before  the  king  feeds  you," 
he  said. 

"  But  I  have  been  begging,"  I  persisted. 

"  If  you  want  me  to  arrest  you,  break  a  window,"  said 
the  man.  "  Then  I'll  take  you  before  a  bailie  and  he'll 
put  you  into  a  reformatory,  where  they'll  give  you  a  jail- 
bird's education.  You'll  come  out  worse  than  you  went 
in,  and  it's  ten  to  one  in  favour  of  your  life  ending  with  a 
hempen  cravat  round  your  neck." 

The  man  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket  and  took  out  a 
sixpence,  which  he  handed  to  me. 

"  Run  away  now  and  get  something  to  eat,"  he  shouted 
in  an  angry  voice,  and  I  hurried  away  hugging  the  silver 
coin  in  my  hand.  That  night  I  got  twopence  more,  and 
fed  well  for  the  first  time  in  a  whole  week. 

I  met  the  policeman  once  again  in  later  years.  He  was 
a  Socialist,  and  happened  to  have  the  unhealthy  job 
of  protecting  blacklegs  from  a  crowd  of  strikers  when  I 
met  him  for  the  second  time.  While  pretending  to  keep 
the  strikers  back  he  was  urging  them  to  rush  by  him  and 
set  upon  the  blacklegs — the  men  who  had  not  the  back- 
bone to  fight  for  justice  and  right.  Not  being,  as  a  Socialist, 
a  believer  in  charity,  he  feigned  to  be  annoyed  when  I 
reminded  him  of  his  generous  action  of  years  before. 


CHAPTER  XV 

MOLESKIN   JOE 

"  Soft  words  may  win  a  woman's  love,  or  soothe  a  maiden's  fears, 
But  hungry  stomachs  heed  them  not — the  belly  hasn't  ears." 

— From  The  Maxims  of  Moleskin  Joe. 

THAT  night  I  slept  in  a  watchman's  hut  on  the 
streets,  and  in  the  morning  I  obtained  a  slice 
of  bread  from  a  religious  lady,  who  gave  me  a 
long  harangue  on  the  necessity  of  leading  a  holy  life. 
Afterwards  I  went  away  from  Paisley,  and  out  on  the 
road  I  came  upon  a  man  who  was  walking  along  by 
himself.  He  was  whistling  a  tune,  and  his  hands  were 
deep  in  his  trousers'  pockets.  He  had  knee-straps  around 
his  knees,  and  a  long  skiver  of  tin  wedged  between 
one  of  the  straps  and  the  legs  of  his  trousers,  which  were 
heavy  with  red  muck  frozen  on  the  cloth.  The  cloth  itself 
was  hard,  and  rattled  like  wood  against  the  necks  of  his 
boots.  He  was  very  curiously  dressed.  He  wore  a  pea- 
jacket,  which  bore  marks  of  the  earth  of  many  strange 
sleeping-places.  A  grey  cap  covered  a  heavy  cluster  of 
thick  dark  hair.  But  the  man's  waistcoat  was  the  most 
noticeable  article  of  apparel.  It  was  made  of  velvet, 
ornamented  with  large  ivory  buttons  which  ran  down  the 
front  in  parallel  rows.  Each  of  his  boots  was  of  different 
colour  ;  one  was  deep  brown,  the  other  dark  chrome  ;  and 
they  were  also  different  in  size  and  shape. 

In  later  years  I  often  wore  similar  boots  myself.    We 
navvies  call  them  "  subs."  and  they  can  be  bought  very 


ioo    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

cheaply  in  rag-stores  and  second-hand  clothes-shops.  One 
boot  has  always  the  knack  of  wearing  better  than  its 
fellow.  The  odd  good  boot  is  usually  picked  up  by  a  rag- 
picker, and  in  course  of  time  it  finds  its  way  into  a  rag- 
store,  where  it  is  thrown  amongst  hundreds  of  others,  which 
are  always  ready  for  further  use  at  their  old  trade.  A 
pair  of  odd  boots  may  be  got  for  a  shilling  or  less,  and 
most  navvies  wear  them. 

The  man's  face  was  strongly  boned  and  fierce  of  ex- 
pression. He  had  not  shaved  for  weeks.  His  shoulders 
were  broad,  and  he  stood  well  over  six  feet  in  height. 
At  once  I  guessed  that  he  was  very  strong,  so  I  liked  the 
man  even  before  I  spoke  to  him. 

"  Where  are  you  for  ?  "  he  asked  when  I  overtook  him. 

"  God  knows,"  I  answered.    "  Where  are  you  for  ?  " 

"  Christ  knows,"  he  replied,  and  went  on  with  the  tune 
which  he  had  left  off  to  question  me. 

When  he  had  finished  whistling  he  turned  to  me  again. 

"  Are  you  down  and  out  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  slept  out  last  night,"  I  answered. 

"  The  first  time  ?  "  he  enquired. 

"  I  slept  out  for  a  whole  week." 

"  There's  a  good  time  comin',  though  we  may  never 
live  to  see  it,"  he  said,  by  way  of  consolation.  "  Had 
you  anything  to  eat  this  mornin'  ?  " 

"  A  slice  of  bread,"  I  said ;  then  added,  "  and  a  lot  of 
advice  along  with  it  from  an  old  lady." 

"  Damn  her  advice  !  "  cried  the  man  angrily.  "  The 
belly  hasn't  ears.  A  slice  of  bread  is  danged  mealy  grub 
for  a  youngster." 

He  stuck  his  hand  in  the  pocket  of  his  pea-jacket  and 
drew  out  a  chunk  of  currant  bread,  which  he  handed  to 
me. 

"  Try  that,  cully,"  he  said. 

I  ate  it  ravenously,  for  I  was  feeling  very  hungry. 


MOLESKIN  JOE  101 

"  By  cripes  !  you've  a  stomach,"  said  my  companion, 
when  I  had  finished  eating.  "  Where  are  you  for,  any- 
how ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.    I'm  looking  for  work." 

"  It's  not  work  you  need ;  it's  rest,"  said  the  stranger. 

"  You've  been  working,"  I  replied,  looking  at  his 
covering  of  muck.  "  Why  don't  you  clean  your  trousers 
and  shoes  ?  " 

"  If  you  were  well  fed  you'd  be  as  impudent  as  myself," 
said  the  man.  "  And  clean  my  trousers  and  shoes  !  What's 
the  good  of  being  clean  ?  " 

"  It  puts  the  dirt  away." 

"  It  does  not ;  it  only  shifts  it  from  one  place  to  another. 
And  as  to  work — well,  I  work  now  and  again,  I'm  sorry 
to  say,  although  I  done  all  the  work  that  a  man  is  put 
into  the  world  to  do  before  I  was  twenty-one.  What's 
your  name  ?  " 

"  Dermod  Flynn.     What's  yours  ?  " 

"  Joe — Moleskin  Joe,  my  mates  calls  me.  Have  you 
any  tin  ?  " 

"  Twopence,"  I  replied,  showing  the  man  the  remainder 
of  the  eightpence  which  I  had  picked  up  the  night  before. 

"  You're  savin'  up  your  fortune,"  he  said  with  fine 
irony.  "  I  haven't  a  penny  itself." 

"  Where  did  you  get  the  currant  cake  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Stole  it." 

"  And  the  waistcoat  ?  " 

"  Stole  it,"  said  the  man,  and  then  continued  with 
thinly-veiled  sarcasm  in  his  voice.  "  My  name's  Moleskin 
Joe,  as  I've  told  you  already.  I  don't  mind  havin'  seen 
my  father  or  mother,  and  I  was  bred  in  a  workhouse.  I'm 
forty  years  of  age — more  or  less — and  I  started  work 
when  I  was  seven.  I've  been  in  workhouse,  reformatory, 
prison,  and  church.  I  went  to  prison  of  my  own  free  will 
when  the  times  were  bad  and  I  couldn't  get  a  mouthful 


102    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

of  food  outside,  but  it  was  always  against  my  will 
that  I  went  to  church.  I  can  fight  like  hell  and  drink  like 
blazes,  and  now  that  you  know  as  much  about  my  life  as 
I  know  myself  you'll  maybe  be  satisfied.  You're  the  most 
impudent  brat  that  I  have  ever  met." 

The  man  made  the  last  assertion  in  a  quiet  voice,  as  if 
stating  a  fact  which  could  not  be  contradicted.  I  did  not 
feel  angry  or  annoyed  with  the  man  who  made  sarcastic 
remarks  so  frankly  and  good-humouredly.  For  a  long  while 
I  kept  silence  and  the  two  of  us  plodded  on  together. 

"  Why  do  you  drink  ?  "  I  asked  at  last. 

"  Why  do  I  drink  ?  "  repeated  the  man  in  a  voice  of 
wonder.  "  Such  a  funny  question  !  If  God  causes  a  man 
to  thirst  He'll  allow  him  to  drink,  for  He's  not  as  bad  a 
chap  as  some  of  the  parsons  make  Him  out  to  be.  Drink 
draws  a  man  nearer  to  heaven  and  multiplies  the  stars ; 
and  '  Drink  when  you  can,  the  drouth  will  come '  is  my 
motto.  Do  you  smoke  or  chew  ?  " 

He  pulled  a  plug  of  tobacco  from  his  pocket,  bit  a  piece 
from  the  end  of  it,  and  handed  the  plug  to  me.  Now  and 
again  I  had  taken  a  whiff  at  Micky's  Jim's  pipe,  and  I  liked 
a  chew  of  tobacco.  Without  answering  Moleskin's  question 
I  took  the  proffered  tobacco  and  bit  a  piece  off  it. 

"  There's  some  hope  for  you  yet,"  was  all  he 
said. 

We  walked  along  together,  and  my  mate  asked  a  farmer 
who  was  standing  by  the  roadside  for  a  few  coppers  to 
help  us  on  our  way. 

"  Go  to  the  devil !  "  said  the  farmer. 

"  Never  mind,"  Moleskin  remarked  to  me  when  we  got 
out  of  hearing.  "  There's  a  good  time  comin',  though  we 
may  never  live  to  see  it  in  this  world." 

Afterwards  we  talked  of  many  things,  and  Joe  told  me 
of  many  adventures  with  women  who  were  not  good  and 
men  who  were  evil.  When  money  was  plentiful  he  lived 


MOLESKIN   JOE  103 

large  and  drank  between  drinks  as  long  as  he  was  able 
to  stand  on  his  feet. 

The  man  impressed  me,  and,  what  was  most  wonderful, 
he  seemed  to  enjoy  life.  Nights  spent  out  in  the  cold, 
days  when  hardly  a  crust  of  food  was  obtainable,  were 
looked  upon  as  a  matter  of  course  by  him. 

"  Let  us  live  to-day,  if  we  can,  and  the  morrow  can  go 
be  damned  !  "  he  said,  and  this  summed  up  the  whole  of 
his  philosophy  as  far  as  I  could  see.  It  would  be  fine  to 
live  such  a  life  as  his,  I  thought,  but  such  a  life  was  not 
for  me.  I  had  my  own  people  depending  on  my  earnings, 
and  I  must  make  money  to  send  home  to  Glenmornan. 
If  I  had  a  free  foot  I  would  live  like  Joe,  and  at  that  moment 
I  envied  the  man  who  was  born  in  a  workhouse  and  who 
had  never  seen  a  father  or  mother. 

A  lot  of  events  took  place  on  the  road.  Passing  along 
we  overtook  a  dour-faced  man  who  carried  a  spade  over 
his  shoulder. 

"He's  goin'  to  dig  his  own  grave,"  said  Moleskin  to 
me. 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Well,  I'd  like  to  know  how  a  man  is  goin'  to  live  long 
if  he  works  on  a  day  like  this  !  " 

Just  as  we  came  up  to  him  a  young  woman  passed  by 
and  gave  us  an  impudent  glance,  as  Moleskin  called  it. 
She  was  good  to  look  at  and  had  a  taking  way  with  her. 
As  she  went  by  the  man  with  the  spade  turned  and  looked 
after  her. 

"  Did  ye  see  that  woman  ?  "  he  asked  Moleskin  when  we 
came  abreast. 

"  By  God,  I'm  not  blind  !  "  said  my  friend. 

"  Dinna  sweer,"  said  the  man  with  the  spade.  "  Tis 
an  evil  habit." 

"  Tisn't  a  habit,"  said  Joe.    "  Tis  a  gift." 

"  'Tis  a  gift  frae  the  deevil,"  replied  the  other  man. 


104    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

"  A  gift  frae  the  deevil,  that's  what  it  is.  Tis  along  with 
that  woman  that  ye  should  be,  though  God  forgi'e  me  for 
callin'  her  a  woman,  for  her  house  is  on  the  way  tae  Sheol 
goin'  doon  tae  the  chambers  of  death.  I  wadna  talk  tae 
her  wi'  muckle  mooth  sine  she  be  a  scarlet  woman  with 
a  wily  heart." 

"  What  are  you  jawin'  about  ?  "  asked  Moleskin,  who 
seemed  at  a  loss  what  to  make  of  the  man  with  the  spade, 
while  for  myself  I  did  not  in  the  least  understand  him. 

"  Have  you  a  sixpence  ?  "  asked  Joe  suddenly. 

"  A  sixpence  ?  "  queried  the  man.  "  Gin  that  I  hae, 
what  is  it  tae  ye  ?  " 

"  If  you  have  a  sixpence  you  should  have  given  it  to 
that  woman  when  she  was  passin'.  She's  a  lusty  wench." 

"  Gi'e  a  sixpence  to  that  woman  !  "  replied  the  stranger. 
"  I  wadna  do  it,  mon,  if  she  was  lyin'  for  death  by  the 
roadside.  I'm  a  Chreestian." 

"  I  would  give  up  your  company  in  heaven  for  hers  in 
hell  any  day,"  said  Moleskin,  as  the  man  with  the  spade 
turned  into  a  turnip  field  by  the  roadside.  "  And  never 
look  too  much  into  other  people's  faults  or  you're  apt  to 
forget  your  own  !  "  roared  Joe,  by  way  of  a  parting  shot. 

"  Don't  you  think  that  I  had  the  best  of  that  argument  ?  " 
Joe  asked  me  five  minutes  later. 

"  What  was  it  all  about  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  don't  know  what  he  was  jawin'  at  half  of  the  time," 
said  Joe.  "  But  his  talk  about  the  Christian  was  a  damned 
good  hit  against  me.  However,  I  got  in  two  good  hits 
myself  !  The  one  about  her  company  in  hell  and  the  one 
about  lookin'  too  much  into  other  people's  faults  were  a 
pair  up  for  me.  I  think  that  I  did  win,  Flynn,  and  between 
me  and  you  I  never  like  to  get  the  worst  of  either  an 
argument  or  a  fight." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

MOLESKIN  JOE  AS  MY  FATHER 

'  The  opinions  of  a  man  who  argues  with  his  fist  are  always 
respected." — MOLESKIN  JOE. 

ABOUT  midday  we  met  a  red-faced  fanner  driving 
a  spring-cart  along  the  road. 
"  Where  are  you  bound  for  ?  "  he  called  to  me 
as  he  reined  up  his  pony. 

"  What  the  hell  is  it  to  you  ?  "  asked  Moleskin,  assuming 
a  pugilistic  pose  all  of  a  sudden.  Love  of  fighting  was  my 
mate's  great  trait,  and  I  found  it  out  in  later  years.  He 
would  fight  his  own  shadow  for  the  very  fun  of  the  thing. 
"  The  man  who  argues  with  his  fist  is  always  respected," 
he  often  told  me. 

"I'm  lookin'  for  a  young  lad  who  can  milk  and  take  care 
of  beasts  in  a  byre,"  replied  the  man  nervously,  for  Joe's 
remark  seemed  to  have  frightened  him.  "  Can  the  young- 
ster milk  ?  " 

"  I  can,"  I  answered  gleefully.  I  had  never  caught  hold 
of  a  cow's  teat  in  my  life,  but  I  wanted  work  at  all  costs, 
and  did  not  mind  telling  a  lie.  A  moment  before  I  was 
in  a  despondent  mood,  seeing  nothing  in  front  of  me  but 
the  life  of  the  road  for  years  to  come,  but  now,  with  the 
prospect  of  work  and  wages  before  me,  I  felt  happy. 
Already  I  was  forming  dreams  of  the  future,  and  my  mind 
was  once  more  turning  to  the  homecoming  to  Glenmornan 
when  I  became  a  rich  man.  A  lot  of  my  dreams  had  been 
dashed  to  pieces  already,  but  I  was  easily  captured  and 


io6    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

made  the  slave  of  new  ones.  Also,  there  was  a  great  deal 
of  my  old  pride  slipping  away.  There  was  a  time  when 
I  would  not  touch  a  cow's  teat,  but  the  Glenmornan 
pride  that  looked  down  upon  such  work  was  already 
gone. 

"  Milk  !  "  cried  Moleskin  in  answer  to  the  last  remark 
of  the  farmer.  "  You  should  see  my  son  under  a  cow  ! 
He's  the  boy  for  a  job  like  that,  you'll  find.  What  wages 
are  you  goin'  to  offer  him  ?  " 

"  Ten  pounds  from  now  till  May-day,  if  he  suits,"  replied 
the  farmer. 

"  He'll  suit  you  all  right,"  said  Joe.  "  But  he'll  not  go 
with  you  for  one  penny  less  than  eleven  pounds." 

"  I'll  take  ten  pounds,  Moleskin,"  I  cried.  I  did  not 
want  to  sleep  another  night  on  the  cold  ground. 

"  Hold  your  blessed  jaw,"  growled  my  mate.  Then  he 
turned  to  the  farmer  again  and  went  on  : 

"  Eleven  pounds  and  not  one  penny  less.  Forbye,  you 
must  give  me  something  for  lettin'  him  go  with  you,  as 
I  do  not  like  to  lose  the  child." 

After  a  great  deal  of  haggling,  during  which  no  notice 
was  taken  of  me,  a  bargain  was  struck,  the  outcome  of 
which  was  that  I  should  receive  the  sum  of  ten  guineas 
at  the  end  of  six  months  spent  in  the  employ  of  the  farmer. 
My  "  father  "  received  five  shillings,  paid  on  the  nail,  because 
he  allowed  me  to  go  to  work. 

"  There's  a  good  time  comin',  though  we  may  never 
live  to  see  it,"  said  Joe,  as  he  shoved  the  silver  into  his 
pocket  and  cast  a  farewell  glance  at  me  as  I  climbed  into 
the  cart.  I  caught  my  mate's  square  look  for  a  minute. 
In  the  left  eye  a  faint  glimmer  appeared  and  the  eyelid 
slowly  descended.  Then  he  bit  a  piece  off  the  end  of  his 
plug,  started  whistling  a  tune  and  went  on  his  way. 

The  farmer  set  the  young  cob  at  a  gallop,  and  in  about 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  we  arrived  at  his  place,  which  was 


MOLESKIN  JOE  AS  MY  FATHER    107 

called  Braxey  Farm.  When  evening  came  round  my 
master  found  that  I  could  not  milk. 

"  You'll  learn,"  he  said,  not  at  all  unkindly,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  teach  me  the  correct  way  in  which  to  coax  a 
cow's  udder.  In  a  fortnight's  time  I  was  one  of  the  best 
milkers  in  the  byre. 

Just  off  the  stable  I  had  a  room  to  sleep  in,  an  evil- 
smelling  and  dirty  little  place  crammed  with  horses'  harness 
and  agricultural  implements.  But  after  the  nights  spent 
on  the  snow  I  thought  the  little  room  and  the  bed  the  most 
cosy  room  and  bed  in  the  world.  I  slept  there  all  alone, 
and  by  night  I  could  hear  the  horses  pawing  the  floor  of 
the  stable,  and  sometimes  I  was  wakened  by  the  noise  they 
made  and  thought  that  somebody  had  gotten  into  my 
room. 

I  started  work  at  five  o'clock  in  the  morning  and  finished 
at  seven  in  the  evening,  and  when  Sunday  came  round  I 
had  to  feed  the  ploughman's  horses  in  addition  to  my 
ordinary  work.  ±  -- 

I  liked  the  place  in  a  negative  sort  of  way ;  it  was  dull 
and  depressing,  but  it  was  better  than  the  life  of  the  road. 
Now  and  again  I  got  a  letter  from  home,  and  my  people 
were  very  angry  because  I  had  sent  so  little  money  to 
them  during  the  summer  months.  For  all  that,  I  liked  to 
get  a  letter  from  home,  and  I  loved  to  hear  what  the  people 
whom  I  had  known  since  childhood  were  doing.  On 
the  farm  there  was  no  one  to  speak  to  me  or  call  me  friend. 
The  two  red-cheeked  servant  girls  who  helped  me  at  the 
milking  hardly  ever  took  any  notice  of  me,  a  kid  lifted 
from  the  toll-road.  They  were  decent  ploughmen's  daugh- 
ters, and  they  let  me  know  as  much  whenever  I  tried  to 
become  familiar.  After  all,  I  think  they  liked  me  to  speak 
to  them,  for  they  could  thus  get  an  excuse  to  dwell  on 
their  own  superior  merits. 

"  Workin'   wi'    a   lad  picked  off    the    roads,   indeed ! 


io8    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

Whoever  heard  of  such  a  thing  for  respectable  lassies !  " 
they  exclaimed. 

Even  the  ploughman  who  worked  on  the  farm  ignored 
me  when  he  was  out  of  temper.  When  in  a  good  humour 
he  insulted  me  by  way  of  pastime. 

"  You're  an  Eerish  pig  !  "  he  roared  at  me  one  evening. 

I  am  impulsive,  and  my  temper,  never  the  best,  was 
becoming  worse  daily.  When  angry  I  am  blind  to  every- 
thing but  my  own  grievance,  and  the  ploughman's  taunt 
made  me  angrier  than  ever  I  had  been  in  my  life  before. 
He  had  just  come  into  the  byre  where  the  girls  and  I  were 
milking.  He  was  a  married  man,  but  he  loved  to  pass 
loose  jokes  with  the  two  young  respectable  lassies,  and  his 
filthy  utterances  amused  them. 

Although  the  ploughman  was  a  big  hardy  fellow,  his 
taunt  angered  me,  and  made  me  blind  to  his  physical 
advantages.  I  rushed  at  him  head  down  and  butted  him 
in  the  stomach.  He  flattened  out  in  the  sink  amidst  the 
cow-dung,  and  once  I  got  him  down  I  jumped  on  him  and 
rained  a  shower  of  blows  on  his  face  and  body.  The  girls 
screamed,  the  cows  jumped  wildly  in  the  stalls,  and  we 
were  in  imminent  danger  of  getting  kicked  to  death.  So 
I  heard  later,  but  at  that  moment  I  saw  nothing  but  the 
face  which  was  bleeding  under  my  blows.  The  ploughman 
was  much  stronger  than  I,  and  gripping  me  round  the 
waist  he  turned  me  over,  thus  placing  me  under  himself. 
I  struggled  gamely,  but  the  man  suddenly  hit  my  head 
against  the  flagged  walk  and  I  went  off  in  a  swoon.  When 
I  came  to  myself,  the  farmer,  the  two  girls,  and  the  plough- 
man were  standing  over  me. 

I  struggled  to  my  feet,  rushed  at  the  man  again,  and 
taking  him  by  surprise  I  was  able  to  shove  him  against 
one  of  the  cows  in  the  stall  nearest  him.  The  animal 
kicked  him  in  the  leg,  and,  mad  with  rage,  he  reached 
forward  and  gripped  me  by  the  throat  with  the  intention 


MOLESKIN   JOE  AS  MY  FATHER     109 

erf  strangling  me.  But  I  was  not  afraid ;  the  outside 
world  was  non-existent  to  me  at  that  moment,  and  I 
wanted  to  fight  until  I  fell  again. 

The  farmer  interposed.  We  were  separated  and  the 
ploughman  left  the  byre.  That  night  I  did  not  sleep  ; 
my  anger  burned  like  a  fire  until  dawn.  The  next  day  I 
felt  dizzy  and  unwell,  but  that  was  the  only  evil  result 
of  the  fight.  The  ploughman  never  spoke  to  me  again, 
civilly  or  otherwise,  and  I  was  left  in  peace. 

From  start  to  finish  the  work  on  Braxey  Farm  was  very 
wearisome,  and  the  surroundings  were  soul-killing  and 
spiritless.  By  nature  I  am  sensitive  and  refined.  A  woman 
of  untidy  appearance  disgusts  me,  a  man  who  talks  filthily 
without  reason  is  utterly  repellent  to  me.  The  ploughman 
with  his  loose  jokes  I  loathed,  the  girls  I  despised  even 
more  than  they  despised  me.  Their  dislike  was  more 
affected  than  real ;  my  dislike  was  real  though  less  ostenta- 
tious. It  gave  me  no  pleasure  to  tell  a  dirty  slut  that  she 
was  dirty,  but  a  dirty  woman  annoyed  me  in  those  days. 
I  could  not  imagine  a  man  falling  in  love  with  one  of  those 
women,  with  their  short,  inelegant  petticoats  and  hobnailed 
shoes  caked  with  the  dried  muck  of  the  farmyard.  I  could 
not  imagine  love  in  the  midst  of  such  filth,  such  squalid 
poverty.  But  I  did  not  then  understand  the  meaning  of 
love  ;  to  me  it  was  something  which  would  exist  when 
Norah  Ryan  became  a  lady,  and  when  I  had  a  grand  house 
wherein  to  pay  her  homage.  I  am  afraid  that  my  know- 
ledge of  life  was  very  small. 

The  talk  of  the  two  girls  gave  me  the  first  real  insight 
into  love  and  all  that  it  cloaks  with  the  false  covering  of 
poetical  illusion.  Every  poetical  ideal,  every  charm  and 
beauty  which  I  had  associated  with  love  was  dispelled 
by  the  talk  of  those  two  women.  For  a  while  I  did  not 
believe  the  things  of  which  they  spoke.  My  mind  revolted. 
The  ploughman  and  the  two  girls  continued  their  disgusting 


no    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

anecdotes.  I  did  my  best  not  to  listen.  Knowing  that  I 
hated  their  talk  the  servants  would  persist  in  talking,  and 
every  particle  of  information  collected  by  them  was  in 
course  of  time  given  to  me. 

My  outlook  on  life  became  cynical  and  sour.  I  was  a 
sort  of  outcast  among  men,  liking  few  and  liked  by  none. 
When  the  end  of  the  season  came  I  was  pleased  to  get 
clear  of  Braxey  Farm ;  the  more  familiar  I  became  with 
the  people  the  more  I  disliked  them.  The  farmer  paid  me 
nine  pounds,  and  explained  that  he  retained  the  other 
thirty  shillings  because  he  had  to  learn  me  how  to  milk. 

"  Your  feyther  was  a  great  liar,"  he  added. 

Out  of  my  wages  I  sent  seven  pounds  home  to  Glen- 
mornan  and  kept  the  remainder  for  my  own  use,  as  I  did 
not  know  when  I  could  get  a  next  job.  My  mother  sent 
me  a  letter  that  another  brother  was  born  to  me — the 
second  since  I  left  home — and  asking  me  for  some  more 
money  to  help  them  along  with  the  rent.  But  my  dis- 
position was  changing  ;  my  outlook  on  life  was  becoming 
bitter,  and  I  hated  to  be  slave  to  farmers,  landlords,  parents, 
and  brothers  and  sisters.  Every  new  arrival  into  the 
family  was  reported  to  me  as  something  for  which  I  should 
be  grateful.  "  Send  home  some  more  money,  you  have 
another  brother,"  ran  the  letters,  and  a  sense  of  unfairness 
crept  over  me.  The  younger  members  of  the  family  were 
taking  the  very  life-blood  out  of  my  veins,  and  on  account 
of  them  I  had  to  suffer  kicks,  snubs,  cold  and  hunger. 
New  brothers  and  sisters  were  no  pleasure  to  me.  I 
rebelled  against  the  imposition  and  did  not  answer  the 
letter. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

ON  THE  DEAD  END 

"  He  tramped  through  the  colourless  winter  land  or  swined  in  the 

scorching  heat, 

The  dry  skin  hacked  on  his  sapless  hands  or  blistering  on  his  feet ; 
He  wallowed  in  mire,  unseen,  unknown  where  your  houses  of 

pleasure  rise, 

And  hapless  hungry  and  chilled  to  the  bone  he  builded  the 
edifice." 

— From  A  Song  of  the  Dead  End. 

IN  this  true  story,  as  in  real  life,  men  and  women  crop 
up  for  a  moment,  do  something  or  say  something, 
then  go  away  and  probably  never  reappear  again. 
In  my  story  there  is  no  train  of  events  or  sequence 
of  incidents  leading  up  to  a  desired  end.  When  I  started 
writing  of  my  life  I  knew  not  how  I  would  end  my  story  ; 
and  even  yet,  seeing  that  one  thing  follows  another  so 
closely,  I  hardly  know  when  to  lay  down  my  pen  and  say 
that  the  tale  is  told.  Sometimes  I  say,  "  I'll  write  my 
life  up  to  this  day  and  no  further,"  but  suddenly  it  comes 
to  me  that  to-morrow  may  furnish  a  more  fitting  climax, 
and  so  on  my  story  runs.  In  fiction  you  settle  upon  the 
final  chapter  before  you  begin  the  first,  and  every  event 
is  described  and  placed  in  the  fabric  of  the  story  to  suit 
an  end  already  in  view.  A  story  of  real  life,  like  real  life 
itself,  has  no  beginning,  no  end.  Something  happens 
before  and  after ;  the  first  chapter  succeeds  another  and 
another  follows  the  last.  The  threads  of  a  made-up  story 
are  like  the  ribs  of  an  open  umbrella,  far  apart  at  one 
end  and  joined  together  at  the  other.  You  close  the 


112    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

umbrella  and  it  becomes  straight ;   you  draw  the  threads 

of  the  story  together  at  the  end  and  the  plot  is  made 

clear.    Emanating  as  it  does  from  the  mind  of  a  man  or 

woman,  the  plot  is  worked  up  so  that  it  arouses  interest 

and  compels  attention.    Such  an  incident  is  unnecessary ; 

then  dispense  with  it.    Such  a  character  is  undesirable ; 

then  away  with  him.     Such  a  conversation  is  unfitting  ; 

then  substitute  one  more  suitable.    But  I,  writing  a  true 

story,  cannot  substitute  imaginary  talk  for  real,  nor  false 

characters  for  true,  if  I  am  faithful  to  myself  and  the  task 

imposed  upon  me  when  I  took  to  writing  the  story  of  my 

life.    No  doubt  I  shall  have  some  readers  weak  enough 

to  be  shocked  by  my  disclosures ;  men  and  women,  who 

like  ascetic  hermits,  fight  temptation  by  running  from  it, 

and  avoid  sin  by  shutting  their  eyes  to  it.    But  these  need 

not  be  taken  into  account,  their  weakness  is  not  worthy 

of  attention.    I  merely  tell  the  truth,  speak  of  things  as 

I  have  seen  them,  of  people  as  I  have  known  them,  and  of 

incidents  as  one  who  has  taken  part  in  them.    Truth  needs 

no  apologies,  frankness  does  not  deserve  reproof.    I  write 

of  the  ills  which  society  inflicts  on  individuals  like  myself, 

and  when  possible  I  lay  every  wound  open  to  the  eyes  of 

the  world.    I  believe  that  there  is  an  Influence  for  Good 

working  through  the  ages,  and  it  is  only  by  laying  our 

wounds  open  that  we  can  hope  to  benefit  by  the  Influence. 

Who  doctors  the  wounds  which  we  hide  from  everybody's 

eyes  ? 

It  was  beautiful  weather  and  the  last  day  of  May,  1906, 
when  I  left  Braxey  Farm  and  took  to  the  road  again.  I 
obtained  work,  before  night  fell,  on  an  estate  in  the  vicinity. 
The  factor,  a  pompous  man  with  a  large  stomach,  gave  me 
the  job  ;  and  I  got  lodgings  with  a  labourer  who  worked 
on  the  estate.  My  pay  was  eighteen  shillings  a  week,  and 
I  stopped  a  fortnight.  At  the  end  of  that  period  I  got 
sacked.  This  was  how  it  happened. 


ON  THE  DEAD  END  113 

Two  men,  a  fat  man  and  a  fatter,  came  to  the  spot  where 
I  was  working  on  the  estate  grounds.  The  fat  man  was 
the  factor. 

"  Are  you  working  here  ?  "  asked  the  fat  man. 

"  Yes,"  I  answered. 

"  '  Yes,  sir,'  you  mean,"  said  the  fatter  man. 

"  I  mean  '  yes,'  "  I  said.  The  man  looked  overbearing, 
and  he  annoyed  me. 

"I'm  the  master  of  this  place,"  said  the  fatter  man. 
"  You  must  address  me  as  '  sir '  when  speaking  to  me." 

A  fat  man  looks  awfully  ridiculous  with  his  big  stomach, 
his  short  breath,  and  short  legs.  An  ugly  man  may 
look  dignified ;  a  gargoyle  may  even  possess  the  dignity 
of  unrivalled  ugliness,  but  a  fat  man  with  a  red  face  who 
poses  as  a  dignified  being  is  very  funny  to  see.  I  never 
raise  my  hat  to  any  man,  and  I  was  not  going  to  say 
"  sir  "  to  the  blown  bubble  in  front  of  me. 

"  You  had  better  say  '  sir/  "  said  the  factor.  "  This 
gentleman  is  your  master." 

The  word  "  master  "  is  repellent  to  me. 

"  Sir  be  damned  !  "  I  snapped  out. 

"  Pay  him  off  this  evening,"  was  all  that  gentleman 
said ;  and  that  evening  I  was  on  the  road  again. 

Afterwards  I  kept  mucking  about  on  farms  and  other 
places,  working  a  day  here  and  a  week  there,  earning  a 
guinea  clear  at  one  job  and  spending  it  while  looking  for 
the  next.  Sometimes  I  tramped  for  days  at  a  time,  sleeping 
in  haysheds,  barns  and  ditches,  and  "  bumming  my  grub," 
as  we  tramps  say,  from  houses  by  the  roadside.  Often  in 
the  darkness  of  the  night  I  lit  my  little  fire  of  dried  sticks 
under  shelter  of  a  rock  or  tree,  and  boiled  my  billy  of  tea 
in  the  red  flames.  Then  I  would  fall  asleep  while  looking 
at  the  pictures  in  the  embers,  and  my  dreams  would  take 
me  back  again  to  Glenmornan  and  the  road  that  led  from 
Greenanore  to  my  home  on  the  steep  hillside  of  Donegal. 


H4    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

Often  and  often  I  went  home  to  my  own  people  in  my 
nightly  dreams.  When  morning  came  I  would  set  out 
again  on  my  journey,  leaving  nothing  to  tell  of  my  passing 
but  the  ashes  of  my  midnight  fire.  I  had  nothing  to  cheer 
me,  no  hopes,  no  joys,  no  amusements.  It  was  hard  to 
obtain  constant  employment ;  a  farmer  kept  me  a  fort- 
night, a  drainer  a  week,  a  roadmender  a  day,  and  after- 
wards it  was  the  road,  the  eternal,  soul-killing  road  again. 
When  I  had  money  I  spent  it  easily ;  spending  was  my 
nearest  approach  to  pleasure.  When  I  had  aught  in  my 
purse  I  lived  in  suspense,  thinking  of  the  time  when  all 
would  be  spent,  but  when  the  coin  was  gone  I  had 
the  contentment  of  a  man  who  knows  that  he  can  fall  no 
lower.  Always,  however,  I  sought  for  work ;  I  wanted 
something  to  do.  My  desire  to  labour  became  a  craze, 
an  obsession,  and  nothing  else  mattered  if  I  got  plenty  of 
work  to  do. 

"You  are  an  idle,  useless-lookin'  lump  o'  a  man,"  the 
women  in  roadside  cottages  said  to  me.  "  Why  don't  you 
work  ?  "  Looking  for  work  meant  laziness  and  idleness 
to  them.  For  me  they  felt  all  the  contempt  which  people 
with  fixed  abodes  feel  for  vagabonds.  They  did  not  hate 
me ;  of  that  I  was  not  worthy.  They  were  very  human, 
which  is  the  worst  that  can  be  said  of  them,  and  they 
despised  me.  Work  was  scarce  ;  I  looked  light  and  young, 
and  a  boy  is  not  much  good  to  a  farmer.  Yet  for  my  age 
I  was  very  strong,  and  many  a  man  much  older  than 
myself  I  could  work  blind,  if  only  I  got  the  chance.  But 
no  one  seemed  to  want  me.  "  Run  away,  little  impudence, 
and  hide  behind  your  big  sister's  petticoats  !  "  were  the 
words  that  I  was  greeted  with  when  I  asked  for  a  job. 

For  a  whole  month  I  earned  my  living  by  gathering 
discarded  metal  from  the  corporation  middens  near 
Glasgow  and  selling  the  scrap  to  proprietors  of  the  city 
rag-stores.  Starvation  has  hold  of  the  forelock  of  a  man 


ON  THE  DEAD  END  115 

who  works  at  that  job.  Sometimes  I  made  tenpence  a 
day.  By  night  I  slept  on  the  midden,  or,  to  be  more  exact, 
in  the  midden.  I  dug  a  little  hole  in  the  warm  refuse 
sent  out  from  the  corporation  stables,  and  curled  myself 
up  there  and  went  to  sleep,  somewhat  after  the  manner 
of  Job  of  old.  Once  a  tipster  employed  me  to  sell  his  tips 
outside  the  enclosure  of  Ayr  racecourse.  I  gave  up  that 
job  quickly,  for  I  could  only  earn  sixpence  a  day.  During 
the  end  of  the  summer  I  made  a  few  shillings  by  carrying 

luggage  for  passengers  aboard  the  steamer  at  G 

Pier,  but  in  the  end  the  porters  on  the  quay  chased  me 
away.  I  was  depriving  decent  men  of  their  livelihood, 
they  said. 

About  this  time  I  met  Tom  MacGuire,  a  countryman  of 
my  own,  an  anarchist,  a  man  with  great  courage,  strength, 
and  love  of  justice.  Tom  said  that  all  property  was  theft, 
all  religion  was  fraud,  and  a  life  lacking  adventure  was  a 
life  for  a  pig.  He  had  just  come  out  of  jail  after  serving 
six  months'  hard  because  he  shot  the  crow  *  in  a  Greenock 
public-house.  I  met  him  on  the  roadside,  where  he  was 
sitting  reading  an  English  translation  of  some  of  Schopen- 
hauer's works.  We  sat  down  together  and  talked  of  one 
thing  and  another,  and  soon  were  the  best  of  friends.  I 
told  Tom  the  story  of  the  man  who  wanted  me  to  say 
"  Yes,  sir,"  when  speaking  to  him. 

"  I  have  a  job  on  that  man's  place  to-night,"  said  Tom. 
"  Will  you  come  and  give  me  a  hand  ?  " 

"  What  is  the  job  ?"  I  asked. 

Tom  lowered  the  left  eyelid  slightly  as  I  looked  at  him. 
That  was  his  only  answer.  I  guessed  instinctively  that 
Tom's  job  was  a  good  one,  and  so  I  promised  to  accompany 
him. 

*  Ordering  and  drinking  whisky,  and  having  no  intention  of 
paying  for  the  drink,  is  known  to  navvies  as  "  shooting  the 
crow." 


n6    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

We  worked  together  on  that  estate  not  only  that  night, 
but  for  some  weeks  afterwards.  Operations  started  at  mid- 
night and  finished  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning.  We  stopped 
in  Paisley,  and  we  went  into  the  town  in  the  morning,  each 
on  a  different  route,  and  sold  the  proceeds  of  our  night's 
labour.  At  the  end  of  a  fortnight,  or,  to  be  exact,  fifteen 
days'  work  on  the  estate,  Tom  was  accosted  by  two  police- 
men as  he  was  going  into  Paisley.  His  belly  looked  bigger 
than  any  alderman's,  and  no  wonder  !  When  searched  he 
had  three  pheasants  under  his  waistcoat.  Because  of  that 
he  got  six  months,  and  the  magistrate  spoke  hard  things 
against  Tom's  character.  For  all  that,  my  mate  was  a  sound, 
good  fellow.  In  a  compact  made  beforehand  it  was  under- 
stood that  if  one  was  gripped  by  the  law  he  would  not  give 
his  comrade  away,  and  Tom  was  good  to  his  word  when  put 
to  the  test.  From  that  time  forward  I  forsook  poaching. 
I  loved  it  for  its  risks  alone,  but  I  was  not  an  adept  at 
the  art,  and  I  could  never  make  a  living  at  the  game.  I 
felt  sorry  for  poor  Tom  and  I  have  never  seen  him  since. 

Once,  eighteen  months  after  I  had  left  Braxey  Farm,  I 
wrote  home  to  my  own  people.  I  was  longing  to  hear  from 
somebody  who  cared  for  me.  In  reply  an  angry  letter 
came  from  my  mother.  "  Why  was  I  not  sending  home 
some  money  ?  "  she  asked.  Another  child  had  come  into 
the  family  and  there  were  many  mouths  to  fill.  I  would 
never  have  a  day's  luck  in  all  my  life  if  I  forgot  my  father 
and  mother.  I  was  working  with  a  drainer  at  the  time 
and  I  had  thirty  shillings  in  my  possession.  This  I  sent 
home,  but  not  with  a  willing  heart,  for  I  did  not  know 
when  I  would  be  idle  again.  Three  days  later  my  mother 
wrote  asking  me  to  send  some  more  money,  for  they 
were  badly  needing  it.  I  did  not  answer  the  letter,  for  I 
got  sacked  that  evening,  and  I  went  out  on  the  road  again 
with  five  shillings  in  my  pocket  and  new  thoughts  in  my 
head,  thoughts  that  had  never  come  there  before. 


ON  THE  DEAD  END  117 

Why  had  my  parents  brought  me  into  the  world  ?  I 
asked  myself.  Did  they  look  to  the  future  ?  At  home  I 
heard  them  say  when  a  child  was  born  to  such  and  such  a 
person  that  it  was  the  will  of  God,  just  as  if  man  and 
woman  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  affair.  I  wished  that 
I  had  never  been  born.  My  parents  had  sinned  against 
me  in  bringing  me  into  the  world  in  which  I  had  to  fight 
for  crumbs  with  the  dogs  of  the  gutter.  And  now  they 
wanted  money  when  I  was  hardly  able  to  keep  myself 
alive  on  what  I  earned.  Bringing  me  into  the  world  and 
then  living  on  my  labour — such  an  absurd  and  unjust 
state  of  things  !  I  was  angry,  very  angry,  with  myself 
and  with  everyone  else,  with  the  world  and  the  people 
on  it. 

The  evening  was  wet ;  the  rain  came  down  heavily,  and 
I  got  drenched  to  the  skin.  While  wandering  in  the  town 
of  Kilmacolm,  my  eye  caught  the  light  of  a  fire  through 
the  window-blind  of  an  inn  parlour.  It  would  be  very 
warm  inside  there.  My  flesh  was  shivery  and  my  feet 
were  cold,  like  lumps  of  ice,  in  my  battered  and  worn 
boots.  I  went  in,  sat  down,  and  when  the  bar-tender 
approached  me,  I  called  for  a  half-glass  of  whisky.  I  did 
not  intend  to  drink  it,  having  never  drunk  intoxicating 
liquor  before,  but  I  had  to  order  something  and  was  quite 
content  to  pay  twopence  for  the  heat  of  the  fire.  It  was 
so  very  comfortable  there  that  I  almost  fell  asleep  three 
or  four  times.  Suddenly  I  began  to  feel  thirsty  ;  it  seemed 
as  if  I  was  drying  up  inside,  and  the  glass  of  whisky,  spark- 
ling brightly  as  the  firelight  caught  it,  looked  very  tempt- 
ing. I  raised  it  to  my  mouth,  just  to  wet  my  lips,  and  the 
whisky  tasted  good.  Almost  without  realising  what  I  was 
doing  I  swallowed  the  contents  of  the  glass. 

At  that  moment  a  man  entered,  a  man  named  Fergus 
Boyle,  who  belonged  to  the  same  arm  of  the  Glen  as  myself, 
and  he  was  then  employed  on  a  farm  in  the  neighbourhood. 


n8    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

I  was  pleased  to  see  him.  I  had  not  seen  a  Glenmornan 
man  since  I  had  left  Micky's  Jim's  squad,  but  Fergus  brought 
no  news  from  home  ;  he  had  been  in  Scotland  for  over 
five  years  without  a  break.  Without  asking  me,  he  called 
for  "  two  schooners  *  of  beer,  with  a  stick  f  in  iviry  wan  of 
them." 

"  Don't  pull  the  hare's  foot,  J  for  I  don't  drink,  Fergus," 
I  said.  I  did  not  want  to  take  any  more  liquor.  I  could 
hardly  realise  that  I  had  just  been  drinking  a  moment  be- 
fore, the  act  being  so  unpremeditated.  I  came  into  the  inn 
parlour  solely  to  warm  myself,  and  thinking  still  of  that  more 
than  anything  else  I  could  hardly  grasp  what  had  resulted. 
I  had  a  great  dislike  in  my  heart  for  drunken  men,  and 
I  did  not  want  to  become  one.  Fergus  sniffed  at  the  glass 
beside  me  and  winked  knowingly.  Evidences  were  against 
my  assertion,  and  if  I  did  not  drink  with  Fergus  he  would 
say  that  I  did  not  like  his  company.  He  was  the  first 
Glenmornan  man  whom  I  had  seen  for  years,  and  I  could 
not  offend  him.  When  the  bar-tender  brought  the  drinks 
I  drained  the  schooner  at  one  gulp,  partly  to  please  Fergus 
and  partly  because  I  was  very  dry.  I  stood  treat  then 
myself,  as  decency  required,  and  my  remembrance  of 
subsequent  events  is  very  vague.  In  a  misty  sort  of  way 
I  saw  Fergus  putting  up  his  fists,  as  a  Glenmornan  man 
should  when  insulted,  and  knocking  somebody  down. 
There  was  a  scuffle  afterwards  and  I  was  somehow  mixed 
up  in  it  and  laying  out  round  me  for  all  I  was  worth. 

Dawn  was  breaking  when  I  found  myself  lying  on  the 

*  Schooner.  A  large  glass  used  for  lager-beer  and  ale,  which 
contains  fourteen  fluid  ounces. 

f  A  stick.  A  half-glass  of  whisky  mixed  with  beer — a  navvyism  for 
petite  verre. 

J  Pulling  the  hare's  foot.  A  farmyard  phrase.  The  hare  in  the 
cornfield  takes  refuge  in  the  standing  corn  when  the  servants  are 
reaping.  To  the  farmer  himself  belongs  the  privilege  of  catching  the 
animal.  If  he  is  unable  to  corner  the  hare  he  stands  drinks  to  all  the 
harvesters,  and  the  drink  is  usually  a  sure  one. 


ON   THE  DEAD  END  119 

toll-road,  racked  by  a  headache  and  suffering  from  extreme 
thirst.  It  was  still  raining  and  my  clothes  were  covered 
with  mud  ;  one  boot  was  gone  and  one  sleeve  of  my  coat 
was  hanging  by  a  mere  thread.  I  found  the  sum  of  seven- 
pence  in  my  pockets — the  rest  of  the  money  had  dis- 
appeared. I  looked  round  for  Fergus,  but  could  not  see 
him.  About  a  hundred  paces  along  the  road  I  came  on 
his  cap  and  I  saw  the  trace  of  his  body  in  the  wet  muck. 
Probably  he  had  slept  there  for  a  part  of  the  night  and 
crept  away  when  the  rain  brought  him  to  his  senses.  I 
looked  high  and  low  for  my  lost  boot,  but  could  not  find 
it.  I  crept  over  the  wall  surrounding  a  cottage  near  the 
road  and  discovered  a  pair  of  boots  in  an  outhouse.  I 
put  them  on  when  I  came  back  to  the  road  and  threw  my 
own  old  one  away.  The  pain  in  my  head  was  almost 
intolerable,  and  my  mind  went  back  to  the  stories  told 
by  hard  drinkers  of  the  cure  known  as  the  "  hair  of  the 
dog  that  bit  you."  So  it  was  that  I  went  into  Kilmacolm 
again,  not  knowing  how  I  came  out,  and  waited  until  the 
pubs  opened,  when  I  drank  a  bottle  of  beer  and  a  half- 
glass  of  whisky.  My  headache  cleared  away  and  I  had 
threepence  left  and  felt  happy.  By  getting  drunk  the 
night  before  I  made  myself  impervious  to  the  rain 
and  blind  to  the  discomforts  of  the  cold  and  the  slush 
of  the  roadway.  Drunkenness  had  no  more  terrors  for 
me,  and  as  a  matter  of  course  I  often  got  drunk  when 
a  cold  night  rested  over  the  houseless  road,  and  when 
my  body  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  spending  hour 
after  hour  in  the  open.  Drink  kept  me  company,  and 
there  was  no  terror  that  we  could  not  face  together,  drink 
and  I. 

I  never  have  seen  Fergus  since,  but  often  I  think  of  the 
part  which  he  played  in  my  life.  If  he  had  not  come  into 
the  inn  at  the  moment  when  I  was  sitting  by  the  fire  I 
would  probably  never  have  drunk  another  glass  of  spirits 


120    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

in  my  life.  I  do  not  see  anything  wrong  in  taking  liquor 
as  long  as  a  man  makes  it  his  slave.  Drink  was  a  slave 
to  me.  I  used  it  for  the  betterment  of  my  soul,  and  for 
the  comfort  of  the  body.  In  conformity  with  the  laws  of 
society  an  individual  like  me  must  sleep  under  a  wet 
hedgerow  now  and  again.  There  is  nothing  in  the  world 
more  dismal.  The  water  drops  off  the  tree  like  water  from 
the  walls  of  a  dungeon,  splashes  on  your  face,  maybe  drop- 
ping into  the  eyes  when  you  open  them.  The  hands  are 
frozen,  the  legs  are  cold,  heavy  and  dead ;  you  hum  little 
songs  to  yourself  over  and  over  again,  ever  the  same  song, 
for  you  have  not  the  will  to  start  a  fresh  one,  and  the  cold 
creeps  all  over  the  body,  coming  closer  and  closer,  like 
a  thief  to  your  heart.  Sometimes  it  catches  men  who 
are  too  cold  to  move  even  from  the  spectre  of  death.  The 
nights  spent  in  the  cold  are  horrible,  are  soul-killing. 
Only  drink  can  draw  a  man  from  his  misery;  only  by 
getting  drunk  may  a  man  sleep  well  on  the  cold  ground. 
So  I  have  found,  and  so  it  was  that  I  got  drunk  when  I 
slept  out  on  a  winter's  night.  Maybe  I  would  be  dead 
in  the  morning,  I  sometimes  thought,  but  no  one  would  re- 
gret that,  not  even  myself.  Drink  is  a  servant  wonderfully 
efficient.  Only  when  sober  could  I  see  myself  as  I  really 
was,  an  outcast,  a  man  rejected  by  society,  and  despised 
and  forgotten.  Often  I  would  sit  alone  in  a  quiet  place  and 
think  my  life  was  hardly  worth  living.  But  somehow  I  kept 
on  living  a  life  that  was  to  me  as  smoke  is  to  the  eyes,  bitter 
and  cruel.  As  time  wore  on  I  became  primeval,  animalised 
and  brutish.  Everything  which  I  could  lay  hands  on  and 
which  would  serve  my  purposes  was  mine.  The  milk  left 
by  milkmen  at  the  doors  of  houses  in  early  morning  was 
mine.  How  often  in  the  grey  dawn  of  a  winter  morning 
did  I  steal  through  a  front  gate  silently  as  a  cat  and  empty 
the  milk-can  hanging  over  some  doorstep,  then  slip  so 
silently  away  again  that  no  one  either  heard  my  coming 


ON  THE  DEAD  END  121 

or  going.  It  was  most  exciting,  and  excitement  is  one  of 
the  necessaries  of  life.  Excitement  appeals  to  me,  I  hanker 
after  it  as  a  hungry  man  hankers  after  food.  I  like  to  see 
people  getting  excited  over  something. 

One  evening  in  early  spring,  nearly  two  years  after  I 
had  left  Braxey  Farm,  I  was  passing  a  large  house  near 

G ,  or  was  it  P ?  I  now  forget  which  of  these 

towns  was  nearest  the  house.  I  had  at  that  time  a  strange 
partiality  for  a  curious  form  of  amusement.  I  liked  to 
steal  up  to  large  houses  in  the  darkness  and  watch  the 
occupants  at  dinner. 

A  large  party  was  at  dinner  in  the  house  on  this  spring 
evening,  and  I  crept  into  the  shrubbery  and  looked  through 
the  window  into  the  lighted  room.  With  the  slushy  earth 
under  my  body  I  lay  and  watched  the  people  inside 
eating,  drinking,  and  making  merry.  At  the  further  end 
of  the  table  a  big  fat  woman  in  evening  dress  sat  facing 
me,  and  she  looked  irrepressibly  merry.  Her  low-cut 
frock  exposed  a  great  spread  of  bulging  flesh  stretching 
across  from  shoulder  to  shoulder.  It  was  a  most  disgusting 
sight,  and  should  have  been  hidden. 

The  damp  of  the  earth  came  through  my  clothing  and  I 
rose  to  my  feet,  intending  to  go  away.  Before  me  lay  the 
darkness,  the  night,  and  the  cold.  I  am,  as  I  said,  very 
impulsive,  and  long  for  excitement.  Some  rash  act  would 
certainly  enliven  the  dull  dark  hours.  In  rising,  my  hand 
encountered  a  large  pebble,  and  suddenly  an  idea  entered 
my  mind.  What  would  the  old  lady  do  if  the  pebble 
suddenly  crashed  through  the  window  ?  If  such  a 
thing  occurred  it  would  be  most  amusing  to  witness  her 
actions.  I  stepped  out  of  the  shrubbery  in  order  to  have 
a  clear  swing  of  the  arm,  and  threw  the  stone  through  the 
window.  There  was  a  tinkling  fall  of  broken  glass,  and 
everyone  in  the  room  turned  to  the  window — everyone 
in  the  room  except  the  old  lady.  She  rose  to  her  feet,  and 


122    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

in  another  moment  the  door  of  the  house  opened  and  she 
stood  in  the  doorway,  her  large  form  outlined  against  the 
light  in  the  hall.  So  quickly  had  she  come  out  that  I  had 
barely  time  to  steal  into  the  shrubbery.  From  there  I 
crept  backwards  towards  the  road,  but  before  I  had  com- 
pleted half  the  journey  I  heard  to  my  horror  the  fat  lady 
calling  for  a  dog.  Then  I  heard  a  short,  sharp  yelp,  and  I 
turned  and  ran  for  all  I  was  worth.  Before  I  reached  the 
gate  a  fairly-sized  black  animal  was  at  my  heels,  squealing 
as  I  had  heard  dogs  in  Ireland  squeal  when  pursuing  a 
rabbit.  I  turned  round  suddenly,  fearing  to  get  bitten  in 
the  legs,  and  the  animal,  unable  to  restrain  his  mad  rush, 
careered  past.  He  tried  to  turn  round,  but  my  boot  shot 
out  and  the  blow  took  him  on  the  head.  This  was  an 
action  that  he  did  not  relish,  and  he  hurried  back  to  the 
house,  whimpering  all  the  way.  In  a  moment  I  was  on 
the  road,  and  I  ran  for  a  long  distance,  feeling  that  I  had 
had  enough  excitement  for  one  night.  Needless  to  say 
I  never  threw  a  stone  through  a  window  again.  I  had 
been  out  of  work  for  quite  a  long  while  and  hunger  was 
again  pinching  me.  I  remember  well  the  day  following 
my  encounter  with  the  fat  lady  and  her  dog,  for  on  that 
day  I  sold  my  shirt  in  a  rag-store  in  Glasgow  and  got  the 
sum  of  sixpence  for  the  same. 

It  was  now  two  years  and  a  half  since  I  had  seen  Micky's 
Jim  or  any  members  of  his  squad,  but  often  during  that 
time  I  thought  of  Norah  Ryan  and  the  part  she  played 
in  my  life.  Almost  daily  since  leaving  the  squad  I  had 
thoughts  of  her  in  my  mind.  For  a  while  I  was  angry 
with  myself  for  allowing  such  thoughts  to  master  me, 
but  in  the  end  I  became  resigned  to  them.  Norah's  fair 
face  would  persist  in  rising  before  my  vision,  and  when 
other  dreams,  other  illusions,  were  shattered,  the  memory 
of  Norah  Ryan  still  exercised  a  spell  over  me.  In  the  end 
I  resigned  myself  to  the  remembrances  of  her,  and  in  the 


ON  THE  DEAD  END  123 

course  of  time  remembrance  gave  rise  to  longings  and  I 
wanted  to  see  her  again.  Now,  instead  of  being  almost 
entirely  mental,  the  longing,  different  from  the  youthful 
longing,  was  both  of  the  mind  and  body.  I  wanted  to 
kiss  her,  take  her  on  my  knees  and  fondle  her.  But  these 
desires  were  always  damped  by  the  thought  of  the  other 
man,  so  much  so  that  I  recoiled  from  the  very  thought 
even  of  meeting  Norah  again. 

Since  meeting  Gourock  Ellen  and  hearing  the  loose  talk 
of  the  women  in  Braxey  Farm  most  women  were  repulsive 
in  my  sight.  For  all  that,  Norah  Ryan  was  ever  the  same 
in  my  eyes.  To  me  she  was  a  wonder,  a  mystery,  a  dream. 
But  when  I  desired  to  go  and  see  her  a  certain  pride  held 
me  back.  She  allowed  another  man  to  kiss  her.  I  never 
kissed  her,  partly  because  kissing  was  practically  unknown 
in  Glenmornan,  and  partly  because  I  thought  Norah  far 
above  the  mere  caresses  of  my  lips.  To  kiss  her  would  be 
a  violation  and  a  wrong.  Why  had  she  allowed  Morrison 
to  kiss  her  ?  I  often  asked  myself.  She  must  have  loved 
him,  and,  loving  him,  she  would  have  no  thought  for  me. 
Perhaps  she  would  be  annoyed  if  I  went  to  see  her,  and 
it  is  wrong  to  annoy  those  whom  we  love.  True  love 
to  a  man  should  mean  the  doing  of  that  which  is  most 
desirable  in  the  eyes  of  her  whom  he  loves.  The  man  who 
disputes  this  has  never  loved ;  if  he  thinks  that  he  has, 
he  is  mistaken.  He  has  been  merely  governed  by  that 
most  bestial  passion,  lust. 

The  year  had  already  taken  the  best  part  of  autumn  to 
itself,  and  I  was  going  along  to  Greenock  by  the  Glasgow 
road  when  I  came  to  a  farmhouse.  There  I  met  with 
Micky's  Jim  and  a  squad  of  potato-diggers.  It  gave  me 
pleasure  to  meet  Jim  again,  and,  the  pleasure  being  mutual, 
he  took  me  into  the  byre  and  gave  me  food  and  drink. 
There  were  many  Glenmornan  people  in  the  squad,  but 
there  were  none  of  those  who  were  in  it  in  my  time,  and  of 


124    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

these  latter  people  you  may  be  certain  I  lost  no  time  in 
asking.  Gourock  Ellen  and  Annie  had  not  come  back 
that  season,  and  nobody  knew  where  they  had  gone  and 
what  had  become  of  them. 

"  It  does  not  matter,  anyhow,"  said  Jim,  who,  curiously 
enough,  had  nothing  but  contempt  for  women  of  that 
class. 

Norah  Ryan,  first  in  my  thoughts,  was  the  last  for  whom 
I  made  enquiries. 

"She  left  us  a  week  ago,  and  went  away  to  Glasgow," 
said  Jim. 

"  Indeed  she  did,  poor  girl,"  said  one  of  the  Glenmornan 
women. 

"  And  her  such  a  fine  soncy  lass  too  !  Wasn't  it  a  great 
pity  that  it  happened  ?  "  said  another. 

"  What  happened  ?  "  I  asked,  bewildered.  "  Is  she  not 
well  ?  " 

"  It's  worse  than  that,"  said  a  woman. 

"  Much  worse  !  "  cackled  another,  shaking  her  head. 

"  The  farmer's  son  kept  gaddin'  about  with  her  all  last 
year,"  broke  in  Jim,  and  I  noticed  the  eyes  of  everybody 
in  the  byre  turned  on  me.  "  But  he  has  left  her  to  herself 
now,"  he  concluded. 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  it,"  I  said. 

"  I  think  that  ye  had  a  notion  of  her  yerself,"  said  Jim, 
"  and  the  farmer's  son  was  a  dirty  beast,  anyhow." 

"  Why  has  she  left  the  squad  ?  "  I  asked  again.  "  Has 
she  got  married  ?  " 

"  When  she  left  here  she  was  in  the  family-way,  ye 
know,"  answered  Micky's  Jim.  "  Such  a  funny  thing,  and 
no  one  would  have  thought  of  it,  the  dirty  slut.  Ye 
would  think  that  butter  would  not  melt  in  her  mouth." 

"  That's  just  so,"  chorused  the  women.  "  Wan 
would  think  that  butter  would  not  melt  in  the  girl's 
mouth." 


ON  THE  DEAD  END  125 

"  She  was  a  dirty  wench,"  said  Micky's  Jim,  as  if  giving 
a  heavy  decision. 

I  was  stunned  by  the  news  and  could  hardly  trust  my 
ears.  Also  I  got  mad  with  Micky's  Jim  for  his  last  words. 
It  comes  naturally  to  some  people  to  call  those  women 
betrayed  by  great  love  and  innocence  the  most  opprobrious 
names.  The  fact  of  a  woman  having  loved  unwisely  and 
far  too  well  often  offers  everybody  excuses  to  throw  stones 
at  her.  And  there  are  other  men  who,  in  the  company 
of  their  own  sex,  always  talk  of  women  in  the  most  filthy 
manner,  and  nobody  takes  offence.  Often  have  I  listened 
to  tirades  of  abuse  levelled  against  all  women,  and  I  have 
taken  no  hand  in  suppressing  it,  not  being  worthy  enough 
to  correct  the  faults  of  others.  But  when  Micky's  Jim 
said  those  words  against  Norah  Ryan  I  reached  out,  for- 
getting the  bread  eaten  with  him  and  the  hand  raised  on 
the  'Deny  boat  on  my  behalf  years  before,  and  gripping 
him  under  the  armpits  I  lifted  him  up  into  the  air  and 
threw  him  head  foremost  on  the  floor.  He  got  to  his  feet 
and  rushed  at  me,  while  the  other  occupants  of  the  byre 
watched  us  but  never  interfered. 

"  I  didn't  think  it  was  in  ye,  Dermod,  to  strike  a  friend," 
he  said,  and  drove  his  fist  for  my  face.  But  I  had  learned 
a  little  of  the  art  of  self-defence  here  and  there  ;  so  it  was 
that  at  the  end  of  five  minutes  Jim,  still  willing  in  spirit 
but  weak  in  flesh,  was  unable  to  rise  to  his  feet,  and  I 
went  out  to  the  road  again,  having  fought  one  fight  in 
which  victory  gave  me  no  pleasure. 

I  walked  along  heedlessly,  but  in  some  inexplicable 
manner  my  feet  turned  towards  Glasgow.  My  brain  was 
afire,  my  life  was  broken,  and  I  almost  wished  that  I  had 
not  asked  about  Norah  when  I  met  Jim.  My  last  dream, 
my  greatest  illusion,  was  shattered  now,  and  only  at  that 
moment  did  I  realise  the  pleasure  which  the  remembrances 
of  early  days  in  Norah's  company  had  given  me.  I  believed 


126    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

so  much  in  my  ideal  love  for  Norah  that  I  thought  the  one 
whom  I  idealised  was  proof  against  temptation  and  sin. 
My  mind  went  back  to  the  night  when  I  saw  her  give  the 
two-shilling  piece,  nearly  all  her  fortune,  to  the  man  with 
the  pain  in  his  back — the  same  night  when  she  and  I  both 
blushed  at  the  frowardness  of  Gourock  Ellen.  Such  good- 
ness and  such  innocence  !  Instinctively  I  knew  that  her 
sin — not  sin,  but  mistake — was  due  to  her  innocence.  And 
some  day  Norah  might  become  like  Gourock  Ellen.  The 
thought  terrified  me,  and  almost  drove  me  frantic.  Only 
now  did  I  know  what  Norah  Ryan  really  meant  to  me. 
For  her  I  lived,  and  for  her  alone.  I  loved  her,  then  it 
was  my  duty  to  help  her.  Love  is  unworthy  of  the 
name  unless  it  proves  its  worth  when  put  to  the  test. 
I  went  to  Glasgow  and  made  enquiries  for  my  sweetheart. 
For  three  whole  weeks  I  searched,  but  my  search  was 
unsuccessful,  and  at  last  hunger  drove  me  from  the  city. 
Perhaps  Jim  knew  of  her  abode  ?  After  our  last  en- 
counter it  was  hard  to  go  back  and  ask  a  favour  of  him. 
In  the  end  I  humbled  myself  and  went  and  spoke  to  one 
of  the  women  in  the  squad.  She  did  not  know  where 
Norah  was  ;  and  sour  against  Heaven  and  Destiny  I  went 
out  on  the  long  road  again. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  DRAINER 

"  Voiceless  slave  of  the  solitude,  rude  as  the  draining  shovel  is  rude  : 
Man  by  the  ages  of  wrong  subdued,  marred,  misshapen,  mis- 
understood, 
Such  is  the  Drainer." 

— From  Songs  of  a  Navvy. 

LATE  in  the  September  of  the  same  year  I  got  a 
job  at  digging  sheep  drains  on  a  moor  in  Argyll- 
shire. I  worked  with  a  man  named  Sandy,  and 
I  never  knew  his  second  name.  I  believe  he  had 
almost  forgotten  it  himself.  He  had  a  little  hut  in  the 
centre  of  the  moor,  and  I  lived  with  him  there.  The  hut 
was  built  of  piles  shoved  into  the  ground,  and  the  cracks 
between  were  filled  with  moss  to  keep  out  the  cold.  In 
the  wet  weather  the  water  came  through  the  floor  and 
put  out  the  fire,  what  time  we  required  it  most. 

One  night  when  taking  supper  a  beetle  dropped  from 
the  roof  into  my  tea-can. 

"  The  first  leevin'  thing  I've  seen  here  for  mony  a  day, 
barrin'  oursel's,"  Sandy  remarked.  "  The  verra  worms 
keep  awa'  frae  the  place." 

We  started  work  at  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Each 
of  us  dug  a  sod  six  inches  deep  and  nine  inches  wide,  and 
threw  it  as  far  as  we  could  from  the  place  where  it 
was  lifted.  All  day  long  we  kept  doing  the  same 
thing,  just  as  Sandy  had  been  doing  it  for  thirty  years. 
We  hardly  ever  spoke  to  one  another,  there  was  nothing 
to  speak  about.  The  moor  spread  out  on  all  sides,  and  little 


128    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

could  be  seen  save  the  brown  rank  grass,  the  crawling 
bogbine,  and  the  dirty  sluggish  water.  We  had  to  drink 
this  water.  The  nearest  tree  was  two  miles  distant,  and 
the  nearest  public-house  a  good  two  hours'  walk  away. 
Sandy  got  drunk  twice  a  week. 

"  Just  tae  put  the  taste  o'  the  feelthy  water  oot  o'  my 
mooth,"  he  explained  in  apologetic  tones  when  he  got 
sober.  I  do  not  know  why  he  troubled  to  make  excuses 
for  his  drunkenness.  It  mattered  very  little  to  me,  al- 
though I  was  now  teetotal  myself.  I  was  even  glad  when 
the  man  got  drunk,  for  intoxicated  he  gave  a  touch  of 
the  ridiculous  to  the  scene  that  was  so  killingly  sombre 
when  he  was  sober.  In  the  end  I  became  almost  as  soulless 
and  stupid  as  the  sods  I  turned  up,  and  in  the  long  run  I 
debated  whether  I  should  take  to  drink  or  the  road  in 
order  to  enliven  my  life.  I  had  some  money  in  my  pocket, 
and  my  thoughts  turned  to  Norah  Ryan.  Perhaps  if  I 
went  to  Glasgow  I  would  find  her.  I  took  it  in  my  head 
to  leave  ;  I  told  Sandy  and  asked  him  to  come. 

"  There's  nae  use  in  me  leavin'  here  noo,"  he  said. 
"  I've  stopped  too  lang  for  that." 

The  farmer  for  whom  we  wrought  got  very  angry  when 
I  asked  him  for  my  wages. 

"  There's  nae  pleasin'  o'  some  folk,"  he  grumbled. 
"  They'll  nae  keep  a  guid  job  when  they  get  one." 

The  last  thing  I  saw  as  I  turned  out  on  the  high-road 
was  Sandy  leaning  over  his  draining  spade  like  some 
God-forsaken  spirit  of  the  moorland.  Poor  man  !  he  had 
not  a  friend  in  all  the  world,  and  he  was  very  old. 

I  stopped  in  Glasgow  for  four  weeks,  but  my  search  for 
Norah  was  fruitless.  She  seemed  to  have  gone  out  of  the 
world  and  no  trace  of  her  was  to  be  found. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

A  DEAD  MAN'S  SHOES 

"  In  the  grim  dead-end  he  lies, 
With  passionless  filmy  eyes, 
English  Ned,  with  a  hole  in  his  head, 
Staring  up  at  the  skies. 

"  The  engine  driver  swore,  as  often  he  swore  before  : 

'  I  whistled  him  back  from  the  flamin'  track, 
And  I  couldn't  do  no  more  ! ' 

"  The  ganger  spoke  through  the  'phone  : '  Platelayer  seventy-one 

Got  killed  to-day  on  the  six-foot  way 
By  a  goods  on  the  city  run. 

"  '  English  Ned  is  his  name,  no  one  knows  whence  he  came  ; 

He  didn't  take  mind  of  the  road  behind, 
And  none  of  us  is  to  blame.'  " 

— From  Songs  of  the  Dead  End. 

THE  law  has  it  that  no  man  must  work  as  a  plate- 
layer on  the  running  lines  until  he  is  over 
twenty-one  years  of  age.  If  my  readers  look 

up  the  books  of  the  Railway  Company,  they'll  find 

that  I  started  work  in  the  service  of  the  company  at  the 
age  of  twenty-two.  My  readers  must  not  believe  this.  I 
was  only  eighteen  years  of  age  when  I  started  work  on 
the  railway,  but  I  told  a  lie  in  order  to  obtain  the 
post. 

One  day,  five  weeks  following  my  return  from  the 
Argyllshire  moors,  and  long  after  all  my  money  had  been 
expended  on  the  fruitless  search  for  Norah  Ryan,  I  clam- 
bered up  a  railway  embankment  near  Glasgow  with  the 
intention  of  seeking  a  job,  and  found  that  a  man  had  just 

K 


130    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

been  killed  by  a  ballast  engine.  He  had  been  cut  in  two  ; 
the  fingers  of  his  left  hand  severed  clean  away  were  lying 
on  the  slag.  The  engine  wheels  were  dripping  with  blood. 
The  sight  made  me  sick  with  a  dull  heavy  nausea,  and 
numberless  little  blue  and  black  specks  floated  before  my 
eyes.  An  almost  unbearable  dryness  came  into  my 
throat ;  my  legs  became  heavy  and  leaden,  and  it  seemed 
as  if  thousands  of  pins  were  pricking  them.  All  the 
men  were  terror-stricken,  and  a  look  of  fear  was  in 
every  eye.  They  did  not  know  whose  turn  would  come 
next. 

A  few  of  them  stepped  reluctantly  forward  and  carried 
the  thing  which  had  been  a  fellow-man  a  few  minutes 
before  and  placed  it  on  the  green  slope.  Others  pulled 
the  stray  pieces  of  flesh  from  amidst  the  rods,  bars,  and 
wheels  of  the  engine  and  washed  the  splotches  of  blood 
from  the  sleepers  and  rails.  One  old  fellow  lifted  the 
severed  fingers  from  the  slag,  counting  each  one  loudly 
and  carefully  as  if  some  weighty  decision  hung  on  the 
correct  tally  of  the  dead  man's  fingers.  They  were  placed 
beside  the  rest  of  the  body,  and  prompted  by  a  morbid 
curiosity  I  approached  it  where  it  lay  in  all  its  ghastliness 
on  the  green  slope  with  a  dozen  men  or  more  circled  around 
it.  The  face  was  unrecognisable  as  a  human  face.  A  thin 
red  sliver  of  flesh  lying  on  the  ground  looked  like  a  tongue. 
Probably  the  man's  teeth  in  contracting  had  cut  the 
tongue  in  two.  I  had  looked  upon  two  dead  people,  Dan 
and  Mary  Sorley,  but  they  might  have  been  asleep,  so 
quiet  did  they  lie  in  their  eternal  repose.  This  was  also 
death,  but  death  combined  with  horror.  Here  and  there 
scraps  of  clothing  and  buttons  were  scrambled  up  with 
the  flesh,  but  all  traces  of  clothing  were  almost  entirely 
hidden  from  sight.  The  old  man  who  had  gathered  up 
the  fingers  brought  a  bag  forward  and  covered  up  the 
dead  thing  on  the  slope.  The  rest  of  the  men  drew  back, 


A  DEAD  MAN'S  SHOES  131 

quietly  and  soberly,  glad  that  the  thing  was  hidden  from 
their  eyes. 

"  A  bad  sight  for  the  fellow's  wife,"  said  the  old  man 
to  me.    "  I've  seen  fifteen  men  die  like  him,  you  know." 

"  How  did  it  happen  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  We  was  liftin'  them  rails  into  the  ballast  train,  and 
every  rail  is  over  half  a  ton  in  weight,"  said  the  man,  who, 
realising  that  I  was  not  a  railway  man,  gave  full  details. 
"  One  of  the  rails  came  back.  The  men  were  in  too  big 
a  hurry,  that's  what  I  say,  and  I've  always  said  it,  but 
it's  not  their  fault.  It's  the  company  as  wants  men  to 
work  as  if  every  man  was  a  horse,  and  the  men  daren't 
take  their  time.  It's  the  sack  if  they  do  that.  Well, 
as  I  was  a-sayin',  the  rail  caught  on  the  lip  of  the  waggon, 
and  came  back  atop  of  Mick — Mick  Deehan  is  his  name — 
as  the  train  began  just  to  move.  The  rail  broke  his  back, 
snapped  it  in  two  like  a  dry  stick.  We  heard  the  spine 
crack,  and  he  just  gave  one  squeal  and  fell  right  under 
the  engine.  Ugh  !  it  was  ill  to  look  at  it,  and,  mind  you, 
I've  seen  fifteen  deaths  like  it.  Fifteen,  just  think  of 
that !  " 

Then  I  realised  that  I  had  been  saved  part  of  the  worst 
terror  of  the  tragedy.  It  must  have  been  awful  to  see  a 
man  suddenly  transformed  into  that  which  lay  under  the 
bag  beside  me.  A  vision  came  to  me  of  the  poor  fellow 
getting  suddenly  caught  in  the  terrible  embrace  of  the 
engine,  watching  the  large  wheel  slowly  revolving  down- 
wards towards  his  face,  while  his  ears  would  hear,  the  last 
sound  ever  to  be  heard  by  them,  the  soft,  slippery  move- 
ment of  that  monstrous  wheel  skidding  in  flesh  and  blood. 
For  a  moment  I  was  in  the  dead  man's  place,  I  could  feel 
the  flange  of  the  wheel  cutting  and  sliding  through  me 
as  a  plough  slides  through  the  furrow  of  a  field.  Again 
my  feelings  almost  overcame  me,  my  brain  was  giddy 
and  my  feet  seemed  insecurely  planted  on  the  ground. 


132    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

By  an  effort  I  diverted  my  thoughts  from  the  tragedy, 
and  my  eyes  fell  on  a  spider's,  web  hung  between  two  bare 
twigs  just  behind  the  dead  man.  It  glistened  in  the  sun- 
shine, and  a  large  spider,  a  little  distance  out  from  the  rim, 
had  its  gaze  fixed  on  some  winged  insect  which  had  got 
entangled  in  the  meshes  of  the  web.  When  the  old  man 
who  had  seen  fifteen  deaths  passed  behind  the  corpse, 
the  spider  darted  back  to  the  shelter  of  the  twig,  and  the 
winged  insect  struggled  fiercely,  trying  to  free  itself  from  the 
meshes  of  death. 

On  a  near  bough  a  bird  was  singing,  and  its  song  was 
probably  the  first  love-song  of  the  spring.  In  the  field 
on  the  other  side  of  the  line,  and  some  distance  away,  a 
group  of  children  were  playing,  children  bare-legged,  and 
dressed  in  garments  of  many  colours.  Behind  them  a 
row  of  lime-washed  cottages  stood,  looking  cheerful  in  the 
sunshine  of  the  early  spring.  Two  women  stood  at  one 
door,  gossiping,  no  doubt.  A  young  man  in  passing  raised 
his  hat  to  the  women,  then  stopped  and  talked  with  them 
for  a  while.  From  far  down  the  line,  which  ran  straight 
for  miles,  an  extra  gang  of  workers  was  approaching, 
their  legs  moving  under  their  apparently  motionless  bodies, 
and  breaking  the  lines  of  light  which  ran  along  the  polished 
upper  bedes  of  the  rails.  The  men  near  me  were  talking, 
but  in  my  ears  their  voices  sounded  like  the  droning  of 
bees  that  flit  amid  the  high  branches  of  leafy  trees.  The 
coming  gang  drew  nearer,  stepping  slowly  from  sleeper 
to  sleeper,  thus  saving  the  soles  of  their  boots  from  the 
contact  of  the  wearing  slag.  The  man  in  front,  a  strong, 
lusty  fellow,  was  bellowing  out  in  a  very  unmusical  voice 
an  Irish  love  song.  Suddenly  I  noticed  that  all  the  men 
near  me  were  gazing  tensely  at  the  approaching  squad, 
the  members  of  which  were  yet  unaware  of  the  tragedy, 
for  the  rake  of  ballast  waggons  hid  the  bloodstained  slag 
and  scene  of  the  accident  from  their  eyes.  The  singer 


A  DEAD  MAN'S  SHOES  133 

came  round  behind  the  rear  waggon,  still  bellowing  out  his 
song. 

"  I'll  leave  me  home  again  and  I'll  bid  good-bye  to-morrow, 
I'll  pass  the  little  graveyard  and  the  tomb  anear  the  wall, 
I  have  lived  so  long  for  love  that  I  cannot  live  for  sorrow 
By  the  grave  that  holds  me  cooleen  in  a  glen  of  Donegal." 

Every  eye  was  turned  on  him,  but  no  man  spoke.  Appar- 
ently taking  no  heed  of  the  splotches  of  blood,  now  darkly 
red,  and  almost  the  colour  of  the  slag  on  which  they 
lay,  he  approached  the  bag  which  covered  the  body. 

"  What  the  devil  is  this  ?  "  he  cried  out,  and  gave  the 
bag  a  kick,  throwing  it  clear  of  the  thing  which  it  covered. 
The  bird  on  the  bough  atop  of  the  slope  trilled  louder  ; 
the  song  of  the  man  died  out,  and  he  turned  to  the  ganger 
who  stood  near  him,  with  a  questioning  look. 

"  It's  Mick,  is  it  ?"  he  asked,  removing  his  cap. 

"  It's  Micky,"  said  the  ganger. 

The  man  by  the  corpse  bent  down  again  and  covered  it 
up  slowly  and  quietly,  then  he  sank  down  on  the  green 
slope  and  burst  into  tears. 

"  Micky  and  him's  brothers,  you  know,"  said  a  man  who 
stood  beside  me  in  a  whisper.  The  tears  came  into  my 
eyes,  much  though  I  tried  to  restrain  them.  The  tragedy 
had  now  revealed  itself  in  all  its  horrible  intensity,  and  I 
almost  wished  to  run  away  from  the  spot. 

After  a  while  the  breakdown  van  came  along  ;  the  corpse 
was  lifted  in,  the  brother  tottered  weakly  into  the  carriage 
attached  to  the  van,  and  the  engine  puffed  back  to  Glasgow. 
A  few  men  turned  the  slag  in  the  sleeper  beds  and  hid  the 
dark  red  clotted  blood  for  ever.  The  man  had  a  wife 
and  several  children,  and  to  these  the  company  paid  blood 
money,  and  the  affair  was  in  a  little  while  forgotten  by 
most  men,  for  it  was  no  man's  business.  Does  it  not  give 
us  an  easy  conscience  that  this  wrong  and  that  wrong  is  no 
business  of  ours  ? 


134    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

When  the  train  rumbled  around  the  first  curve  on  its 
return  journey  I  went  towards  the  ganger,  for  the  work 
obsession  still  troubled  me.  Once  out  of  work  I  long  for  a 
job,  once  having  a  job  my  mind  dwells  on  the  glories  of  the 
free-footed  road  again.  But  now  I  had  an  object  in  view, 
for  if  I  obtained  employment  on  the  railway  I  could  stop 
in  Glasgow  and  continue  my  search  for  Norah  Ryan  during 
the  spare  hours.  The  ganger  looked  at  me  dubiously,  and 
asked  my  age. 

"  Twenty-two  years,"  I  answered,  for  I  was  well  aware 
that  a  man  is  never  taken  on  as  a  platelayer  until  he  has 
attained  his  majority. 

There  and  then  I  was  taken  into  the  employ  of  the 

Railway  Company,  as  Dermod  Flynn,  aged  twenty-two 
years.  Afterwards  the  ganger  read  me  the  rules  which  I 
had  to  observe  while  in  the  employment  of  the  company. 
I  did  not  take  very  much  heed  to  his  droning  voice,  my 
mind  reverting  continuously  to  the  tragedy  which  I  had  just 
witnessed,  and  I  do  not  think  that  the  ganger  took  very 
much  pleasure  in  the  reading.  While  we  were  going 
through  the  rules  a  stranger  scrambled  up  the  railway 
slope  and  came  towards  us. 

"  I  heard 'that  a  man  was  killed,"  he  said  in  an  eager 
voice.  "  Any  chance  of  gettin'  a  start  in  his  place  ?  " 

"  This  man's  in  his  shoes,"  said  the  ganger,  pointing  at 
me. 

"  Lucky  dog  !  "  was  all  that  the  man  said,  as  he  turned 
away. 

The  ganger's  name  was  Roche,  "  Horse  Roche" — for  his 
mates  nicknamed  him  "  Horse  "  on  account  of  his  enor- 
mous strength.  He  could  drive  a  nine-inch  iron  spike 
through  a  wooden  sleeper  with  one  blow  of  his  hammer. 
No  other  man  on  the  railway  could  do  the  same  thing  at 
that  time  ;  but  before  I  passed  my  twenty-first  birthday 
I  could  perform  the  same  feat  quite  easily.  Roche  was  a 


A  DEAD  MAN'S  SHOES  135 

hard  swearer,  a  heavy  drinker,  and  a  fearless  fighter.  He 
will  not  mind  my  saying  these  things  about  him  now.  He 
is  dead  over  four  years. 


CHAPTER  XX 

BOOKS 

"  For  me  has  Homer  sung  of  wars, 

^Eschylus  wrote  and  Plato  thought, 
Has  Dante  loved  and  Darwin  wrought, 
And  Galileo  watched  the  stars." 

— From  The  Navvy's  Scrap  Book. 

UP  till  this  period  of  my  life  I  had  no  taste  for 
literature.     I  had  seldom  even  glanced  at  the 
daily  papers,  having  no  interest  in  the  world 
in  which  I  played  so  small  a  part.     One  day  when  the  gang 
was  waiting  for  a  delayed  ballast  train,  and  when  my 
thoughts  were  turning  to  Norah  Ryan,  I  picked  up  a  piece 
of  paper,  a  leaf  from  an  exercise  book,  and  written  on  it 
in  a  girl's  or  woman's  handwriting  were  these  little  verses  : 


1  No,  indeed  !  for  God  above 

Is  great  to  grant,  as  mighty  to  make, 
And  creates  the  love  to  reward  the  love, — 

I  claim  you  still,  for  my  own  love's  sake  ! 
Delayed  it  may  be  for  more  lives  yet, 

Through  worlds  I  shall  traverse,  not  a  few — 
Much  is  to  learn  and  much  to  forget 

Ere  the  time  be  come  for  taking  you. 


I  have  lived  (I  shall  say)  so  much  since  then, 
Given  up  myself  so  many  times, 

Gained  me  the  gains  of  various  men, 
Ransacked  the  ages,  spoiled  the  climes  ; 

Yet  one  thing,  one,  in  my  soul's  full  scope, 
Either  I  missed  or  itself  missed  me  : 

And  I  want  and  find  you,  Evelyn  Hope 
What  is  the  issue  ?  let  us  see  !  " 


BOOKS  137 

While  hardly  understanding  their  import,  the  words  went 
to  my  heart.  They  expressed  thoughts  of  my  own,  thoughts 
lying  so  deeply  that  I  was  not  able  to  explain  or  express 
them.  The  writer  of  the  verse  I  did  not  know,  but  I 
thought  that  he,  whoever*  he  was,  had  looked  deep  into  my 
soul  and  knew  my  feelings  better  than  myself.  All  day 
long  I  repeated  the  words  to  myself  over  and  over  again, 
and  from  them  I  got  much  comfort  and  strength,  that 
stood  me  in  good  stead  in  the  long  hours  of  searching  on 
the  streets  of  Glasgow  for  my  luckless  love.  Under  the 
glaring  lamps  that  lit  the  larger  streets,  through  the  dark 
guttery  alleys  and  sordid  slums  I  prowled  about  nightly, 
looking  at  every  young  maiden's  face  and  seeing  in  each 
the  hard  stare  of  indifference  and  the  cold  look  of  the 
stranger.  Round  the  next  corner  perhaps  she  was  waiting  ; 
a  figure  approaching  reminded  me  of  her,  and  I  hurried 
forward  eagerly  only  to  find  that  I  was  mistaken.  Oh  ! 
how  many  illusions  kept  me  company  in  my  search  !  how 
many  disappointments  !  and  how  many  hopes.  For  I 
wanted  Norah  ;  for  her  I  longed  with  a  great  longing,  and 
a  dim  vague  hope  of  meeting  her  buoyed  up  my  soul. 

"  And  I  want  and  find  you,  Evelyn  Hope  ! 
What  is  the  issue  ?  let  us  see  !  " 

Such  comforting  words,  and  the  world  of  books  might 
be  full  of  them  !  A  new  and  unexplored  world  lay  open 
before  me,  and  for  years  I  had  not  seen  it,  or  seeing,  never 
heeded.  I  had  once  more  the  hope  that  winged  me  along 
the  leading  road  to  Strabane  when  leaving  for  a  new  country. 
Alas  !  the  country  that  raised  such  anticipations  was  not 
what  my  hopes  fashioned,  but  this  newer  world,  just  as 
enticing,  was  worthy  of  more  trust  and  greater  confidence. 
I  began  to  read  eagerly,  ravenously.  I  read  Victor  Hugo 

in  G Tunnel.     One  day  a  falling  rail  broke  the  top 

joint  of  the  middle  finger  of  my  left  hand.     Being  unable 


138    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

for  some  time  to  take  part  in  the  usual  work  of  the  squad 
I  was  placed  on  the  look-out  when  my  gang  worked  on  the 

night-shift  in  the  tunnel  at  G .  When  the  way  was 

not  clear  ahead  I  had  to  signal  the  trains  in  the 
darkness,  but  as  three  trains  seldom  passed  in  the 
hour  the  work  was  light  and  easy.  When  not  engaged 
I  sat  on  the  rail  beside  the  naphtha  lamp  and  read  aloud  to 
myself.  I  lived  with  Hugo's  characters,  I  suffered  with 
them  and  wept  for  them  in  their  troubles.  One  night 
when  reading  Les  Miserables  I  cried  over  the  story  of  Jean 
Valjean  and  little  Cosette.  Horse  Roche  at  that  moment 
came  through  the  darkness  (in  the  tunnel  it  is  night  from 
dawn  to  dawn)  and  paused  to  ask  me  how  I  was  getting 
along. 

"  Your  eyes  are  running  water,  Flynn,"  he  said.  "  You 
sit  too  close  to  the  lamp  smoke." 

I  remember  many  funny  things  which  happened  in 
those  days.  I  read  the  chapter  on  Natural  Supernaturalism, 
from  Sartor  Resartus,  while  seated  on  the  footboard  of  a 
flying  ballast  train.  Once,  when  Roche  had  left  his  work 
to  take  a  drink  in  a  near  public-house,  I  read  several  pages 
from  Sesame  and  Lilies,  under  shelter  of  a  coal  waggon, 
which  had  been  shunted  into  an  adjacent  siding.  I  read 
Montaigne's  Essays  during  my  meal  hours,  while  my 
mates  gambled  and  swore  around  me. 

I  procured  a  ticket  for  the  Carnegie  Library,  but  bought 
some  books,  when  I  had  cash  to  spare,  from  a  second-hand 
bookseller  on  the  south  side  of  Glasgow.  Every  pay-day 
I  spent  a  few  shillings  there,  and  went  home  to  my  lodgings 
with  a  bundle  of  books  under  my  arm.  The  bookseller 
would  not  let  me  handle  the  books  until  I  bought  them, 
because  my  hands  were  so  greasy  and  oily  with  the  muck 
of  my  day's  labour.  I  seldom  read  in  my  lodgings.  I  spent 
most  of  my  evenings  in  the  streets  engaged  on  my  unsuc- 
cessful search.  I  read  in  the  spare  moments  snatched 


BOOKS  139 

from  my  daily  work.  Soon  my  books  were  covered  with 
iron-rust,  sleeper-tar  and  waggon  grease,  where  my  dirty 
hands  had  touched  them,  and  when  I  had  a  book  in  my  pos- 
session for  a  month  I  could  hardly  decipher  a  word  on  the 
pages.  There  is  some  difficulty  in  reading  thus. 

I  started  to  write  verses  of  a  kind,  and  one  poem  written 
by  me  was  called  The  Lady  of  the  Line.  I  personified  the 
spirit  that  watched  over  the  lives  of  railway  men  from 
behind  the  network  of  point-rods  and  hooded  signals. 
The  red  danger  lamp  was  her  sign  of  power,  and  I  wrote  of 
her  as  queen  of  all  the  running  lines  in  the  world. 

I  read  the  poem  to  my  mates.  Most  of  them  liked  it 
very  much  and  a  few  learned  it  by  heart.  When  Horse 
Roche  heard  of  it  he  said :  "  You'll  end  your  days  in  the 
madhouse,  or  " — with  cynical  repetition — "  in  the  House 
of  Parliament." 

On  Sunday  afternoons,  when  not  at  work,  I  went  to  hear 
the  socialist  speakers  who  preached  the  true  Christian 
Gospel  to  the  people  at  the  street  corners.  The  workers 
seldom  stopped  to  listen  ;  they  thought  that  the  socialists 
spoke  a  lot  of  nonsense.  The  general  impression  was  that 
socialists,  like  clergymen,  were  paid  speakers  ;  that  they 
endeavoured  to  save  men's  bodies  from  disease  and  poverty 
as  curates  save  souls  from  sin  for  a  certain  number  of  shil- 
lings a  day.  From  the  first  I  looked  upon  socialist  speakers 
as  men  who  had  an  earnest  desire  for  justice,  and  men  who 
toiled  bravely  in  the  struggle  for  the  regeneration  of 
humanity.  I  always  revolted  against  injustice,  and  hated 
all  manner  of  oppression.  My  heart  went  out  to  the  men, 
women,  and  children  who  toil  in  the  dungeons  and  ditches 
of  labour,  grinding  out  their  souls  and  bodies  for  meagre 
pittances.  All  around  me  were  social  injustices,  affecting 
the  very  old  and  the  very  young  as  they  affected  the  supple 
and  strong.  Social  suffering  begins  at  any  age,  and  death 
is  often  its  only  remedy.  That  remedy  is  only  for  the 


140    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

individual ;  the  general  remedy  is  to  be  found  in  Socialism. 
Industry,  that  new  Inquisition,  has  thousands  on  the  rack 
of  profit ;  Progress,  to  millions,  means  slavery  and  starva- 
tion ;  Progress  and  Profit  mean  sweated  labour  to  railway 
men,  and  it  meant  death  to  many  of  them,  as  to  Mick 
Deehan,  whose  place  I  had  filled.  I  had  suffered  a  lot 
myself :  a  brother  of  mine  had  died  when  he  might  have 
been  saved  by  the  rent  which  was  paid  to  the  landlord,  and 
I  had  seen  suffering  all  around  me  wherever  I  went ; 
suffering  due  to  injustice  and  tyranny  of  the  wealthy  class. 
When  I  heard  the  words  spoken  by  the  socialists  at  the 
street  corner  a  fire  of  enthusiasm  seized  me,  and  I  knew 
that  the  world  was  moving  and  that  the  men  and  women 
of  the  country  were  waking  from  the  torpor  of  poverty, 
full  of  faith  for  a  new  cause.  I  joined  the  socialist  party. 

For  a  while  I  kept  in  the  background  ;  the  discussions 

which  took  place  in  their  hall  in  G Street  made  me 

conscious  of  my  own  lack  of  knowledge  on  almost  any  sub- 
ject. The  members  of  the  party  discussed  Spencer,  Darwin, 
Huxley,  Karl  Marx,  Ricardo,  and  Smith,  men  of  whom  I 
had  never  even  heard,  and  inwardly  I  chafed  at  my  own 
absolute  ignorance  and  want  of  the  education  necessary 
for  promoting  the  cause  which  I  advocated.  Hours  upon 
hours  did  I  spend  wading  through  Marx's  Capital,  and 
Henry  George's  Progress  and  Poverty.  The  former,  the 
more  logical,  appealed  to  me  least. 

I  had  only  been  two  months  in  the  socialist  party  when 
I  organised  a  strike  among  the  railway  men,  the  thirty 
members  of  the  Flying  Squad  on  which  I  worked. 

We  were  loading  ash  waggons  at  C engine  shed, 

and  shovelling  ashes  is  one  of  the  worst  jobs  on  the  rail- 
way. Some  men  whom  I  have  met  consider  work  behind 
prison  walls  a  pleasure  when  compared  with  it.  As  these 
men  spoke  from  experience  I  did  not  doubt  their  words. 
The  ash-pit  at  C was  a  miniature  volcano.  The  red- 


BOOKS  141 

hot  cinders  and  burning  ashes  were  piled  together  in  a  deep 
pit,  the  mouth  of  which  barely  reached  the  level  of  the 
railway  track.  The  Flying  Squad  under  Horse  Roche 
cleared  out  the  pit  once  every  month.  The  ashes  were 
shovelled  into  waggons  placed  on  the  rails  alongside  for 
that  purpose.  The  men  stripped  to  the  trousers  and  shirt 
in  the  early  morning,  and  braces  were  loosened  to  give  the 
shoulders  the  ease  in  movement  required  for  the  long  day's 
swinging  of  the  shovel.  Three  men  were  placed  at  each 
waggon  and  ten  waggons  were  filled  by  the  squad  at  each 
spell  of  work.  Every  three  wrought  as  hard  as  they  were 
able,  so  that  their  particular  waggon  might  be  filled  before 
the  others.  The  men  who  lagged  behind  went  down  in  the 
black  book  of  the  ganger. 

On  the  day  of  the  strike  the  pit  was  a  boiling  hell. 
Chunks  of  coal  half-burned  and  half-ablaze,  lumps  of  molten 
slag,  red-hot  bricks  and  fiery  ashes  were  muddled  together 
in  suffocating  profusion.  From  the  bottom  of  the  pit 
a  fierce  impetus  was  required  to  land  the  contents  of  the 
shovel  in  the  waggon  overhead.  Sometimes  a  brick  would 
strike  on  the  rim  of  the  waggon  and  rebound  back  on  the 
head  of  the  man  who  threw  it  upwards.  "  Gripes  !  we'll 
have  to  fill  it  ourselves  now,"  his  two  mates  would  say  as 
they  bundled  their  bleeding  fellow  out  of  the  reeking  heat. 
A  shower  of  fine  ashes  were  continuously  falling  downwards 
and  resting  upon  our  necks  and  shoulders,  and  the  ash- 
particles  burned  the  flesh  like  thin  red-hot  wires.  It  was 
even  worse  when  they  went  further  down  our  backs,  for 
then  every  move  of  the  underclothing  and  every  swing  of 
the  shoulders  caused  us  intense  agony.  Under  the  run  of 
the  shirt  the  ashes  scarred  the  flesh  like  sand-paper.  All 
around  a  thick  smoke  rested  and  hid  us  from  the  world 
without,  and  within  we  suffered  in  a  pit  of  blasting  fire. 
I've  seen  men  dropping  at  the  job  like  rats  in  a  furnace. 
These  were  usually  carried  out,  and  a  bucket  of  water  was 


142    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

emptied  on  their  face.    When  they  recovered  they  entered 
into  the  pit  again. 

Horse  Roche  stood  on  the  coupling  chains  of  the  two 
middle  waggons,  timing  the  work  with  his  watch  and  hasten- 
ing it  on  with  his  curses.  He  was  not  a  bad  fellow  at  heart, 
but  he  could  do  nothing  without  flying  into  a  fuming  passion, 
which  often  was  no  deeper  than  his  lips.  Below  him  the 
smoke  was  so  thick  that  he  could  hardly  see  his  own 
labourers  from  the  stand  on  the  coupling  chain.  All  he 
could  see  was  the  shovels  of  red  ashes  and  shovels  of  black 
ashes  rising  up  and  over  the  haze  that  enveloped  the  pit 
beneath.  But  we  could  hear  Roche  where  we  wrought. 
Louder  than  the  grinding  of  the  ballast  engine  was  the 
voice  of  the  Horse  cursing  and  swearing.  His  swearing 
was  a  gift,  remarkable  and  irrepressible ;  it  was  natural  to 
the  man  ;  it  was  the  man. 

"  God's  curse  on  you,  Dan  Devine,  I  don't  see  your  shovel 
at  work  at  all !  "  he  roared.  "  Where  the  hell  are  you, 
Muck  MaCrossan  ?  Your  waggon  isn't  nearly  water-level 
yet,  and  that  young  whelp,  Flynn,  has  his  nearly  full ! 
If  your  chest  was  as  broad  as  your  belly,  MacQueen,  you'd 
be  a  danged  sight  better  man  on  the  ash-pile  !  It's  not 
but  that  you  are  well  enough  used  to  the  ashes,  for  I  never 
yet  saw  a  Heelin  man  who  didn't  spend  the  best  part  of  his 
life  before  a  fire  or  before  grub  !  Come  now,  you  men  on 
the  offside  ;  you  are  slacking  it  like  hell !  If  you  haven't 
your  waggon  up  over  the  lip,  I'll  sack  every  God-damned 
man  of  you  on  the  next  pay  day  !  Has  a  brick  fallen  on 
Feeley's  head  ?  Well,  shove  the  idiot  out  of  the  pit  and 
get  on  with  your  work  !  His  head  is  too  big,  anyhow,  it's 
always  in  the  road  !  " 

This  was  the  manner  in  which  Horse  Roche  carried  on, 
and  most  of  the  men  were  afraid  of  him.  I  felt  frightened 
of  the  man,  for  I  anticipated  the  gruelling  which  he  would 
give  me  if  I  fell  foul  of  him.  But  if  we  had  come  to  blows 


BOOKS  143 

he  would  not,  I  am  certain,  have  much  to  boast  about  at 
the  conclusion  of  the  affair.  However,  I  never  quarrelled 
with  Roche. 

On  the  day  of  the  strike,  about  three  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon, when  fully  forespent  at  our  work,  the  ballast  engine 
brought  in  a  rake  of  sixteen-ton  waggons.  Usually  the 
waggons  were  small,  just  large  enough  to  hold  eight  tons 
of  ashes.  The  ones  brought  in  now  were  very  high,  and  it 
required  the  utmost  strength  of  any  one  of  us  to  throw  a 
shovelful  of  ashes  over  the  rim  of  the  waggon.  Not  alone 
were  the  waggons  higher,  but  the  pile  in  the  pit  had 
decreased,  and  we  had  to  work  from  a  lower  level.  And 
those  waggons  could  hold  so  much  !  They  were  like  the 
grave,  never  satisfied,  but  ever  wanting  more,  more.  I 
suggested  that  we  should  stop  work.  Discontent  was 
boiling  hot,  and  the  men  scrambled  out  of  the  pit,  telling 
Roche  to  go  to  hell,  and  get  men  to  fill  his  waggons. 
Outside  of  the  pit  the  men's  anger  cooled.  They  looked 
at  one  another  for  a  while,  feeling  that  they  had  done 
something  that  was  sinful  and  wrong.  To  talk  of 
stopping  work  in  such  a  manner  was  blasphemy  to  most 
of  them.  Ronald  MacQueen  had  a  wife  and  a  gathering 
of  young  children,  and  work  was  slack.  Dan  Devine 
was  old,  and  had  been  in  the  service  of  the  company 
for  twenty  years.  If  he  left  now  he  might  not  get  another 
job.  He  rubbed  the  fine  ashes  out  of  his  eyes,  and  looked 
at  MacQueen.  Both  men  had  similar  thoughts,  and  before 
the  sweat  was  dry  on  their  faces  they  turned  back  to  the 
pit  together.  One  by  one  the  men  followed  them,  until 
I  was  left  alone  on  the  outside.  Horse  Roche  had  never 
shifted  his  position  on  the  coupling  chains.  "  It'll  not 
pain  my  feet  much,  if  I  stand  till  you  come  back  !  "  he 
cried  when  we  went  out.  He  watched  the  men  return 
with  a  look  of  cynical  amusement. 

"  Come  back,  Flynn,"  he  cried,  when  he  saw  me  standing 


144    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

alone.    "  You're  a  fool,  and  the  rest  of  the  men  are  cowards  ; 
their  spines  are  like  the  spines  of  earth  worms." 

I  picked  up  my  shovel  angrily,  and  returned  to  my 
waggon.  I  was  disgusted  and  disappointed  and  ashamed. 
I  had  lost  in  the  fight,  and  I  felt  the  futility  of  rising  in 
opposition  against  the  powers  that  crushed  us  down. 
That  night  I  sent  a  letter  to  the  railway  company  stating 
our  grievance.  No  one  except  myself  would  sign  it,  but 
all  the  men  said  that  my  letter  was  a  real  good  one.  It 
must  have  been  too  good.  A  few  days  later  a  clerk  was 
sent  from  the  head  of  the  house  to  inform  me  that  I 
would  get  sacked  if  I  wrote  another  letter  of  the  same 
kind. 

Then  I  realised  that  in  the  grip  of  the  great  industrial 
machine  I  was  powerless  ;  I  was  a  mere  spoke  in  the  wheel 
of  the  car  of  progress,  and  would  be  taken  out  if  I  did  not 
perform  my  functions  there.  The  human  spoke  is  useful 
as  long  as  it  behaves  like  a  wooden  one  in  the  socket  into 
which  it  is  wedged.  So  long  will  the  Industrial  Carriage 
keep  moving  forward  under  the  guidance  of  heavy-stom- 
ached Indolence  and  inflated  Pride.  There  is  no  scarcity 
of  spokes,  human  and  wooden.  What  does  it  matter  if 
Devine  and  MacQueen  were  thrown  away  ?  A  million 
seeds  are  dropping  in  the  forest,  and  all  women  are  not 
divinely  chaste.  The  young  children  are  growing.  Bless- 
ings be  upon  you,  workmen,  you  have  made  spokes  that 
will  shove  you  from  the  sockets  into  which  your  feet  are 
wedged,  but  God  grant  that  the  next  spokes  are  not  as 
wooden  as  yourselves  ! 

Again  the  road  was  calling  to  me.  My  search  in  Glasgow 
had  been  quite  unsuccessful,  and  the  dull  slavery  of  the 
six-foot  way  began  to  pall  on  me.  The  clerk  who  was  sent 
by  the  company  to  teach  me  manners  was  a  most  annoying 
little  fellow,  and  full  of  the  importance  of  his  mission.  I 
told  him  quietly  to  go  to  the  devil,  an  advice  which  he  did 


BOOKS  145 

not  relish,  but  which  he  forbore  to  censure.    That  evening 

I  left  the  employ  of  the Railway  Company. 

Just  two  hours  before  I  lifted  my  lying  time,  the  Horse 
was  testing  packed  sleepers  with  his  pick  some  distance 
away  from  the  gang,  when  a  rabbit  ran  across  the  rail- 
way. Horse  dropped  his  pick,  aimed  a  lump  of  slag  at 
the  animal  and  broke  its  leg.  It  limped  off  ;  we  saw  the 
Horse  follow,  and  about  a  hundred  paces  from  the  point 
where  he  had  first  observed  it  Roche  caught  the  rabbit, 
and  proceeded  to  kill  it  outright  by  battering  its  head 
against  the  flange  of  the  rail.  At  that  moment  a  train 
passed  us,  travelling  on  the  down  line.  Roche  was  on 
the  up  line,  but  as  the  train  passed  him  we  saw  a  glint 
of  something  bright  flashing  between  the  engine  and  the 
man,  and  at  the  same  moment  Roche  fell  to  his  face  on  the 
four-foot  way.  We  hurried  towards  him,  and  found  our 
ganger  vainly  striving  to  rise  with  both  arms  caught  in  his 
entrails.  The  pick  which  he  had  left  lying  on  the  line 
got  caught  in  the  engine  wheels  and  was  carried  forward, 
and  violently  hurled  out  when  the  engine  came  level  with 
the  ganger.  It  ripped  his  belly  open,  and  he  died  about 
three  minutes  after  we  came  to  his  assistance.  The 
rabbit,  although  badly  wounded,  escaped  to  its  hole. 
That  night  I  was  on  the  road  again. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

A  FISTIC  ARGUMENT 

"  You're  hungry  and  want  me  to  give  you  food  ?  I'll  see  you 
in  hell  first  1  " — From  Words  to  the  Hungry. 

I  LEFT  my  job  on  Tuesday,  and  tramped  about  for  the 
rest  of  the  week  foot-free  and  reckless.  The  nights 
were  fine,  and  sleeping  out  of  doors  was  a  pleasure. 
On  Saturday  night  I  found  myself  in  Burn's  model  lodging- 
house,  Greenock.  I  paid  for  the  night's  bedding,  and  got 
the  use  of  a  frying-pan  to  cook  a  chop  which  I  had  bought 
earlier  in  the  day.  Although  it  was  now  midsummer 
a  large  number  of  men  were  seated  around  the  hot-plate 
on  the  ground  floor,  where  some  weighty  matter  was  under 
discussion.  A  man  with  two  black  eyes  was  carrying  on  a 
whole-hearted  argument  with  a  ragged  tramp  in  one  corner 
of  the  room.  I  proceeded  to  fry  my  trifle  of  meat,  and  was 
busily  engaged  on  my  job  when  I  became  aware  of  a  dis- 
turbance near  the  door.  A  drunken  man  had  come  in,  and 
his  oaths  were  many,  but  it  was  impossible  to  tell  what  he 
was  swearing  at.  All  at  once  I  turned  round,  for  I  heard 
a  phrase  that  I  knew  full  well. 

"  There's  a  good  time  comin',  though  we  may  never  live 
to  see  it,"  said  the  drunken  man.  The  speaker  was  Mole- 
skin Joe,  and  face  to  face  he  recognised  me  immediately. 

"  Dermod  Flynn,  by  God  !  "  he  cried.  "  Dermod — 
Flynn — by — God  !  How  did  you  get  on  with  your  milkin/ 
sonny  ?  You're  the  only  man  I  ever  cheated  out  of  five 


A    FISTIC  ARGUMENT  147 

bob,  and  there's  another  man  cheatin'  you  out  of  your  bit 
of  steak  this  very  minute." 

I  turned  round  rapidly  to  my  frying-pan,  and  saw  a 
man  bending  over  it.  This  fellow,  who  was  of  middle 
age,  and  unkempt  appearance,  had  broken  an  egg  over 
my  chop,  and  was  busily  engaged  in  cooking  both.  I  had 
never  seen  the  man  before. 

"  You're  at  the  wrong  frying-pan,"  I  roared,  knowing  his 
trick. 

"  You're  a  damned  liar,"  he  answered. 

"  No,  but  you  are  the  damned  liar,"  I  shouted  in 
reply. 

"  Good  !  "  laughed  Moleskin,  sitting  down  on  a  bench, 
and  biting  a  plug  of  tobacco.  "  Good,  Flynn !  Put 
them  up  to  Carroty  Dan ;  he's  worth  keepin'  your 
eye  on." 

"  If  he  keeps  his  eye  on  me,  he'll  soon  get  it  blackened," 
replied  the  man  who  was  nick-named  Carroty,  on  account 
of  his  red  hair.  "  This  is  my  frying-pan." 

"  It  is  not,"  I  replied. 

"  Had  you  an  egg  on  this  chop  when  you  turned  round  ?  " 
asked  Carroty. 

"  I  had  not." 

"  Well,  there's  an  egg  on  this  pan,  cully,  so  it  can't  be 
yours." 

I  knew  that  it  would  be  useless  to  argue  with  the  man. 
I  drew  out  with  all  my  strength,  and  landed  one  on  the  jowl 
of  Carroty  Dan,  and  he  went  to  the  ground  like  a  stuck 

Pig- 

"  Good,  Flynn !  "  shouted  Moleskin,  spitting  on  the 
planking  beneath  his  feet.  "  You'll  be  a  fighter  some 
day." 

I  turned  to  the  chop  and  took  no  notice  of  my  fallen 
enemy  until  I  was  also  lying  stretched  amidst  the  sawdust 
on  the  floor,  with  a  sound  like  the  falling  of  many  waters 


148    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

ringing  in  my  head.  Carroty  had  hit  me  under  my  ear 
while  my  attention  was  devoted  to  the  chop.  I  scrambled 
to  my  feet  but  went  to  the  ground  again,  having  received 
a  well-directed  blow  on  my  jaw.  My  mouth  was  bleeding 
now,  but  my  mind  was  clear.  My  man  stood  waiting 
until  I  rose,  but  I  lay  prone  upon  the  ground  considering 
how  I  might  get  at  him  easily.  A  dozen  men  had  gathered 
round  and  were  waiting  the  result  of  the  quarrel,  but 
Moleskin  had  dropped  asleep  on  the  bench.  I  rose  to  my 
knees  and  reaching  forward  I  caught  Carroty  by  the  legs. 
With  a  strength  of  which,  until  then,  I  never  thought  myself 
capable,  I  lifted  my  man  clean  off  his  feet,  and  threw  him 
head  foremost  over  my  shoulders  to  the  ground  behind. 
Knowing  how  to  fall,  he  dropped  limply  to  the  ground, 
receiving  little  hurt,  and  almost  as  soon  as  I  regained  my 
balance,  he  was  in  front  of  me  squaring  out  with  fists  in 
approved  fashion.  I  took  up  a  posture  of  instinctive 
defence  and  waited.  My  enemy  struck  out ;  I  stooped  to 
avoid  the  blow.  He  hit  me,  but  not  before  I  landed  a 
welt  on  the  soft  of  his  belly.  My  punch  was  good,  and 
he  went  down,  making  strange  noises  in  his  throat,  and 
rubbing  his  guts  with  both  hands.  His  last  hit  had 
closed  my  left  eye,  but  all  fight  was  out  of  Carroty  ;  he 
would  not  face  up  again.  The  men  returned  to  their 
discussion,  Moleskin  slid  from  his  bench  and  lay  on 
the  floor,  and  I  went  on  with  my  cooking.  When 
Carroty  recovered  I  gave  him  back  his  egg,  and  he  ate 
it  as  if  nothing  had  happened  to  disturb  him.  He  asked 
for  a  bit  of  the  chop,  and  I  was  so  pleased  with  the  thrashing 
I  had  given  him  that  I  divided  half  the  meat  with  the 
man. 

Later  in  the  evening  somebody  tramped  on  Moleskin 
Joe  and  awoke  him. 

"  Who  the  hell  thinks  I'm  a  doormat  ?  "  he  growled  on 
getting  to  his  feet,  and  glowered  round  the  room.  No  one 


A  FISTIC   ARGUMENT  149 

answered.  He  went  out  with  Carroty,  and  the  two  of 
them  got  as  drunk  as  they  could  hold.  I  was  in  bed  when 
they  returned,  and  Carroty,  full  of  a  drunken  man's  courage, 
challenged  me  again  to  "  put  them  up  to  him."  I  pre- 
tended that  I  was  asleep,  and  took  no  notice  of  his  antics, 
until  he  dragged  me  out  of  the  bed.  Stark  naked  and 
mad  with  rage,  I  thrashed  him  until  he  shrieked  for  mercy. 
I  pressed  him  under  me,  and  when  he  could  neither  move 
hand  nor  foot,  I  told  him  where  I  was  going  to  hit  him,  and 
kept  him  sometimes  over  two  minutes  waiting  for  the 
blow.  He  was  more  than  pleased  when  I  gave  him  his 
freedom,  and  he  never  evinced  any  further  desire  to  fight 
me. 

"  It's  easy  for  anyone  to  thrash  poor  Carroty,"  said 
Joe,  when  I  had  finished  the  battle. 

On  Sunday  we  got  drunk  together  in  a  speak-easy  *  near 
the  model,  and  it  was  with  difficulty  that  we  restrained 
Carroty  from  challenging  everybody  whom  he  met  to 
fistic  encounter.  By  nightfall  Moleskin  counted  his 
money,  and  found  that  he  had  fourpence  remaining. 

"I'm  off  to  Kinlochleven  in  the  morning,"  he  said. 
"  There's  good  graft  and  good  pay  for  a  man  in  Kinloch- 
leven now.  I'm  sick  of  prokin'  in  the  gutters  here. 
Damn  it  all !  who's  goin'  with  me  ?  " 

"I'm  with  you,"  gibbered  Carroty,  running  his  fingers 
through  the  "  blazing  torch  " — the  term  used  by  Joe  when 
speaking  of  the  red  hair  of  his  mate. 

"  I'll  go  too,"  I  said  impulsively.  "  I've  only  twopence 
left  for  the  journey,  though." 

"  Never  mind  that,"  said  Moleskin  absently.  "  There's 
a  good  time  comin'." 

Kinlochleven  is  situated  in  the  wilderness  of  the  Scottish 
Highlands,  and  I  had  often  heard  of  the  great  job  going  on 

*  A  shebeen.  "  You  must  speak  easy  in  a  shebeen  when  the  police 
are  around." 


150    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

there,  and  in  which  thousands  of  navvies  were  employed. 
It  was  said  that  the  pay  was  good  and  the  work  easy. 
That  night  I  slept  little,  and  when  I  slept  my  dreams  were 
of  the  journey  before  me  at  dawn,  and  the  new  adventures 
which  might  be  met  with  on  the  way. 


CHAPTER    XXII 

THE   OPEN   ROAD 

"The  road  runs  north,  the  road  runs  south,  and  there  foot-easy, 

slow, 
The  tramp,  God  speed  him  I  wanders  forth,  and  nature's  gentry 

go- 
Gentlemen  knights  of  the  gravelled  way,  who  neither  toil  nor 

spin, 

Men  who  reck  not  whether  or  nay  the  landlord's  rents  come  in, 
Men  who  are  close  to  the  natal  sod,  who  know  not  sin  nor  shame, 
And  Way  of  the  World  or  Way  of  the  Road,  the  end  is  much  the 

same." 

— From  A  Song  of  the  Road. 

IN  the  morning  I  was  afoot  before  any  of  my  mates, 
full  of  impatience,  and  looking  forward  eagerly  to 
the  start. 

"  Wake  up,  Moleskin  !  "  I  cried,  as  I  bent  over  my  mate, 
where  he  lay  snoring  loudly  in  the  bed  ;  "  it  is  time  to  be 
away." 

"  It's  not  time  yet,  for  I'm  still  sleepy,"  said  Moleskin 
drowsily.  "  Slow  and  easy  goes  far  in  a  day,"  he  added, 
and  fell  asleep  again.  I  turned  my  attention  to  Carroty. 

"  Get  up,  Carroty  !  "  I  shouted.  "  It's  time  that  we  were 
out  on  our  journey." 

"  What  journey  ?  "  grumbled  Carroty,  propping  himself 
up  on  his  elbow  in  the  bed. 

"  To  Kinlochleven,"  I  reminded  him. 

"  I  never  heard  of  it." 

"  You  said  that  you  would  go  this  morning,"  I  informed 
him.  "  You  said  so  last  night  when  you  were  drunk." 

"  Well,  if  I  said  so,  it  must  be  so,"  said  the  red-haired 


152    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

one,  and  slipped  out  of  the  blankets.  Moleskin  rose  also, 
and  as  a  proof  of  the  bond  between  us,  we  cooked  our  food 
in  common  on  the  hot-plate,  and  at  ten  minutes  to  ten  by 
the  town  clock  we  set  out  on  the  long  road  leading  to  Kin- 
lochleven.  Our  worldly  wealth  amounted  to  elevenpence, 
and  the  distance  to  which  we  had  set  our  faces  was  every 
inch,  as  the  road  turned,  of  one  hundred  miles,  or  a  six 
days'  tramp  according  to  the  computation  of  my  two  mates. 
The  pace  of  the  road  is  not  a  sharp  one.  "  Slow  and  easy 
goes  far  in  a  day,"  is  a  saying  amongst  us,  and  it  sums  up  the 
whole  philosophy  of  the  long  journey.  Besides  our  few 
pence,  each  man  possessed  a  pipe,  a  knife,  and  a  box  for 
holding  matches.  The  latter,  being  made  of  tin,  was  very 
useful  for  keeping  the  matches  dry  when  the  rain  soaked 
the  clothing.  In  addition,  each  man  carried,  tied  to  his 
belt,  a  tin  can  which  would  always  come  in  handy  for  making 
tea,  cooking  eggs,  or  drinking  water  from  a  wayside  well. 
When  we  got  clear  of  the  town  Moleskin  opened  his  shirt 
front  and  allowed  the  wind  to  play  coolly  against  his  hairy 
chest. 

"  Man  alive  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  this  wind  runs  over  a 
fellow's  chest  like  the  hands  of  a  soncy  wench  !  "  Then  he 
spoke  of  our  journey.  Carroty  was  silent ;  he  was  a  morbid 
fellow  who  had  little  to  say,  except  when  drunk,  and  as 
for  myself  I  was  busy  with  my  thoughts,  and  eager  to  tramp 
on  at  a  quicker  pace. 

"  We'll  separate  here,  and  each  must  go  alone  and  pick 
up  what  he  can  lay  his  hands  on,"  said  Moleskin.  "  As 
I'm  an  old  dog  on  the  road,  far  more  knowing  than  a  torch- 
headed  boozer  or  young  mongrel,  I'll  go  ahead  and  lead  the 
way.  Whenever  I  manage  to  bum  a  bit  of  tucker  from  a 
house,  I'll  put  a  white  cross  on  the  gatepost ;  and  both 
of  you  can  try  your  luck  after  me  at  the  same  place.  If 
you  hear  a  hen  making  a  noise  in  a  bunch  of  brambles, 
just  look  about  there  and  see  if  you  can  pick  up  an  egg  or 


THE  OPEN   ROAD  153 

two.  It  would  be  sort  of  natural  for  you,  Carroty,  to  talk 
about  your  wife  and  young  brats,  when  speaking  to  the 
woman  of  a  house.  You  look  miserable  enough  to  have  been 
married  more  than  once.  You're  good  lookin',  Flynn  ;  just 
put  on  your  blarney  to  the  young  wenches  and  maybe  they'll 
be  good  for  the  price  of  a  drink  for  three.  We'll  sit  for  a 
bite  at  the  Ferry  Inn,  and  that  is  a  good  six  miles  of  country 
from  our  feet." 

Without  another  word  Joe  slouched  off,  and  Carroty 
and  I  sat  down  and  waited  until  he  turned  the  corner  of  the 
road,  a  mile  further  along.  The  moment  he  was  out  of 
sight,  Carroty  rose  and  trudged  after  him,  his  head  bent 
well  over  his  breast  and  his  hands  deep  in  the  pockets  of 
his  coat.  This  slowness  of  movement  disgusted  me.  I  was 
afire  to  reach  Kinlochleven,  but  my  mates  were  in  no  great 
hurry.  They  placed  their  faith  in  getting  there  to-morrow, 
if  to-morrow  came.  Each  man  was  calmly  content,  when 
working  out  the  problem  of  the  day's  existence,  to  allow 
the  next  day  to  do  for  itself. 

Carroty  had  barely  turned  the  corner  when  I  got  up  and 
followed.  Over  my  head  the  sun  burned  and  scalded  with 
its  scorching  blaze.  The  grey  road  and  its  fine  gravel, 
crunching  under  the  heels  of  my  boots,  affected  the  ears, 
and  put  the  teeth  on  edge.  Far  in  front,  whenever  I  raised 
my  head,  I  could  see  the  road  winding  in  and  out,  now 
losing  itself  from  my  view,  and  again,  further  on,  reappear- 
ing, desolate,  grey,  and  lonely  as  ever.  Although  memories 
of  the  road  are  in  a  sense  always  pleasing  to  me,  the  road 
itself  invariably  depressed  me  ;  the  monotony  of  the  same 
everlasting  stretch  of  dull  gravelled  earth  gnawed  at  my 
soul.  Most  of  us,  men  of  the  road,  long  for  comfort,  for 
love,  for  the  smile  of  a  woman,  and  the  kiss  of  a  child,  but 
these  things  are  denied  to  us.  The  women  shun  us  as 
lepers  are  shunned,  the  brainless  girl  who  works  with  a 
hoe  in  a  turnip  field  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  a  tramp 


154    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

navvy.  The  children  hide  behind  their  mothers'  petticoats 
when  they  see  us  coming,  frightened  to  death  of  the  awful 
navvy  man  who  carries  away  naughty  children,  and  never 
lets  them  back  to  their  mothers  again. 

He  is  a  lonely  man  who  wanders  on  the  roads  of  a  strange 
land,  shunned  and  despised  by  all  men,  and  foul  in  the  eyes 
of  all  women.  Rising  cold  in  the  morning  from  the  shadow 
of  the  hedge  where  the  bed  of  a  night  was  found,  he  turns 
out  on  his  journey  and  begs  for  a  crumb.  High  noon  sees 
nor  wife  nor  mother  prepare  his  mid-day  meal,  and  there  is 
no  welcome  for  him  at  an  open  door  when  the  evening 
comes.  Christ  had  a  mother  who  followed  him  all  along 
the  road  to  Calvary,  but  the  poor  tramp  is  seldom  followed 
even  by  a  mother's  prayers  along  the  road  where  he  carries 
the  cross  of  brotherly  hate  to  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  of 
Death. 

Suddenly  I  saw  a  white  cross  on  a  gate  in  front  of  a  little 
cottage.  A  girl  stood  by  the  door,  and  I  asked  for  a  slice 
of  bread.  From  the  inside  of  the  house  a  woman  cried 
out :  "  Don't  give  that  fellow  anything  to  eat.  We're 
sick  of  the  likes  of  him." 

The  maiden  remonstrated.  "  Poor  thing !  he  must 
eat  just  like  ourselves,"  she  said. 

Once  I  heard  one  of  the  servant  girls  on  Braxey  Farm 
use  the  same  words  when  feeding  a  pig.  I  did  not  wait 
for  my  slice  of  bread.  I  walked  on  ;  the  girl  called  after 
me,  but  I  never  turned  round  to  answer.  And  the  little 
dignity  that  yet  remained  made  me  feel  very  miserable,  for 
I  felt  that  I  was  a  man  classed  among  swine,  and  that  is  a 
very  bitter  truth  to  learn  at  eighteen. 

Houses  were  rare  in  the  country,  but  alas  !  rarer  were 
the  crosses  of  white.  I  had  just  been  about  two  hours  upon 
the  journey,  when  as  I  was  rounding  a  bend  of  the  road 
I  came  upon  Carroty  sitting  on  a  bank  with  his  arms 
around  a  woman  who  sat  beside  him.  I  had  been  walking 


THE  OPEN   ROAD  155 

on  the  grass  to  ease  my  feet,  and  he  failed  to  hear  my 
approach.  When  he  saw  me,  he  looked  half  ashamed, 
and  his  companion  gazed  at  me  with  a  look  half  cringing 
and  half  defiant.  She  put  me  in  mind  of  Gourock  Ellen. 
Her  face  might  have  been  handsome  at  one  time,  but  it 
was  blotched  and  repugnant  now.  Vice  had  forestalled 
old  age  and  left  its  traces  on  the  woman's  features.  Her 
eyes  were  hard  as  steel  and  looked  as  if  they  had  never  been 
dimmed  b)'  tears.  I  wondered  what  Carroty  could  see  in 
such  a  person,  and  it  was  poor  enough  comfort  to  know  that 
there  was  at  least  one  woman  who  looked  with  favour 
upon  a  tramp  navvy. 

"  Tell  Moleskin  that  I'm  not  comin'  any  further," 
Carroty  shouted  after  me  as  I  passed  him  by. 

"  All  right,"  I  answered  over  my  shoulder.  Afterwards 
I  passed  two  white  crosses,  and  at  each  I  was  refused  even 
a  crust  of  bread.  "  Moleskin  has  got  some,  anyhow,  and 
that  is  a  comfort,"  I  said  to  myself.  Now  I  began  to  feel 
hungry,  and  kept  an  eye  in  advance  for  the  Ferry  Inn. 
Passing  by  a  field  which  I  could  not  see  on  account  of  the 
intervening  hedgerow,  I  heard  a  voice  crying  "  Flynn  ! 
Flynn  !  "  in  a  deep  whisper.  I  stopped  and  could  hear  some 
cows  crop-cropping  the  grass  in  the  field  beyond.  "  Flynn !  " 
cried  the  voice  again.  I  looked  through  the  hedgerow  and 
there  I  saw  Moleskin,  the  rascal,  sitting  on  his  hunkers  under 
a  cow  and  milking  the  animal  into  his  little  tin  can.  When 
he  had  his  own  can  full  I  put  mine  through  the  branches 
and  got  it  filled  to  the  brim.  Then  my  mate  dragged 
himself  through  the  branches  and  asked  me  where  I  had 
left  Carroty.  I  told  him  about  the  woman. 

"  The  damned  whelp  !  I  might  have  known,"  said  Joe, 
but  I  did  not  know  whether  he  referred  to  the  woman  or  the 
man.  We  carried  our  milk  cans  for  a  little  distance,  then 
turning  off  the  road  we  sat  down  in  the  corner  of  a  field 
under  a  rugged  tree  and  began  our  meagre  meal.  Joe  had 


156    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

only  one  slice  of  bread.  This  he  divided  into  equal  shares, 
and  when  engaged  in  that  work  I  asked  him  the  meaning 
of  the  two  white  crosses  by  the  roadside,  the  two  crosses, 
which  as  far  as  I  could  see,  had  no  beneficial  results. 

"  They  were  all  right,"  said  Joe.  "  I  got  food  at  the 
three  places." 

"  What  happened  to  the  other  two  slices  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  gave  it  to  a  woman  who  was  hungrier  than  myself," 
said  Joe  simply. 

We  sat  in  a  nice  cosy  place.  Beside  us  rumbled  a  little 
stream  ;  it  glanced  like  anything  as  it  ran  over  the  stones 
and  fine  sands  in  its  bed.  From  where  we  sat  we  could 
see  it  break  in  small  ripples  against  the  wild  iris  and  green 
rushes  on  the  bank.  From  above,  the  gold  of  the  sunlight 
filtered  through  the  waving  leaves  and  played  at  hide  and 
seek  all  over  our  muck-red  moleskin  trousers.  Far  down 
an  osier  bed  covered  the  stream  and  hid  it  from  our  sight. 
From  there  a  few  birds  flew  swiftly  and  perched  on  the 
tree  above  our  heads  and  began  to  examine  us  closely. 
Finding  that  we  meant  to  do  them  no  harm,  and  observing 
that  Moleskin  threw  away  little  scraps  which  might  be 
eatable,  one  bold  little  beggar  came  down,  and  with  legs  wide 
apart  stood  a  short  distance  away  and  surveyed  us  nar- 
rowly. Soon  it  began  to  pick  up  the  crumbs,  and  by-and- 
bye  we  had  a  score  of  strangers  at  our  meal. 

Later  we  lay  on  our  backs  and  smoked.  'Twas  good  to 
watch  the  blue  of  the  sky  outside  the  line  of  leaves  that 
shaded  us  from  the  sun.  The  feeling  of  rest  and  ease  was 
sublime.  The  birds  consumed  every  crumb  which  had  been 
thrown  to  them  ;  then  they  flew  away  and  left  us.  When 
our  pipes  were  finished  we  washed  our  feet  in  the  passing 
stream,  and  this  gave  us  great  relief.  Moleskin  pared  a 
corn ;  I  turned  my  socks  inside  out  and  hit  down  a  nail 
which  had  come  through  the  sole  of  my  bluchers,  using  a 
stone  for  a  hammer. 


THE  OPEN    ROAD  157 

"  Now  we'll  get  along,  Moleskin,"  I  said,  for  I  was  in  a 
hurry. 

"  Along  be  damned  !  "  cried  my  mate.  "  I'm  goin'  to 
have  my  dog-sleep."  * 

"  You  have  eaten,"  I  said,  "  and  you  do  not  need  your 
dog-sleep  to-day." 

Joe  refused  to  answer,  and  turning  over  on  his  side  he 
closed  his  eyes.  At  the  end  of  ten  minutes  (his  dog-sleep 
usually  lasted  for  that  length  of  time),  he  rose  to  his  feet, 
and  walked  towards  the  Clyde,  the  foreshore  of  which 
spread  out  from  the  lower  corner  of  the  field.  A  little 
distance  out  a  yacht  heaved  on  the  waves,  and  a  small 
boat  lay  on  the  shingle,  within  six  feet  of  the  water.  The 
tide  was  full.  Joe  caught  hold  of  the  boat  and  proceeded 
to  pull  it  towards  the  water,  meanwhile  roaring  at  me  to 
give  him  a  hand.  This  was  a  new  adventure.  I  pulled 
with  all  my  might,  and  in  barely  a  minute's  space  of  time 
the  boat  was  afloat  and  we  were  inside  of  it.  Joe  rowed 
for  all  he  was  worth,  and  soon  we  were  past  the  yacht 
and  out  in  the  deep  sea.  A  man  on  the  yacht  called  to  us, 
but  Joe  put  down  one  oar  and  made  a  gesture  with  his 
hand.  The  man  became  irate  and  vowed  that  he  would 
send  the  police  after  us.  My  mate  took  no  further  heed 
of  the  man. 

"  Can  you  row  ?  "  he  asked  me. 

"  I've  never  had  an  oar  in  my  hand  in  my  life,"  I  said. 

"  How  much  money  have  you  ?  "  he  asked  as  he  bent  to 
his  oars  again.  "  I  gave  all  mine  to  that  woman  who  was 
hungry." 

"  I  have  only  a  penny  left,"  I  said. 

"  We  have  to  cross  the  Clyde  somehow,"  said  Joe,  "  and 

a  penny  would  not  pay  two  men's  fares  on  a  ferry-boat. 

It  is  too  far  to  walk  to  Glasgow,  so  this  is  the  only  thing  to 

do.     I  saw  the  blokes  leavin'  this  boat  when  we  were  at 

*  A  sleep  on  an  empty  stomach  in  the  full  sun. 


158    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

our  grubbin'-up,  so  there  was  nothin'  to  be  done  but  to 
take  a  dog-sleep  until  they  were  out  of  the  way." 

My  respect  for  Joe's  cleverness  rose  immediately.  He 
was  a  mate  of  whom  anyone  might  have  been  proud. 

When  once  on  the  other  side,  we  shoved  the  boat  adrift ; 
and  went  on  the  road  again,  outside  the  town  of  Dumbarton. 
Joe  took  the  lead  along  the  Lough  Lomond  road,  and 
promised  to  wait  for  me  when  dusk  was  near  at  hand. 
The  afternoon  was  very  successful ;  I  soon  had  my  pockets 
crammed  with  bread,  and  I  got  three  pipefuls  of  tobacco 
from  three  several  men  when  I  asked  for  a  chew  from  their 
plugs.  An  old  lady  gave  me  twopence  and  later  I  learned 
that  she  had  given  Moleskin  a  penny. 

Far  outside  of  Dumbarton  in  a  wild  country,  I  overtook 
my  mate  again.  It  was  now  nearly  nightfall,  and  the  sun 
was  hardly  a  hand's  breadth  above  the  horizon.  Moleskin 
was  singing  to  himself  as  I  came  up  on  him.  I  overheard 
one  verse  and  this  was  the  kind  of  it.  It  was  a  song  which 
I  had  heard  often  before  sung  by  navvies  in  the  models. 

"  Oh  !  fare  you  well  to  the  bricks  and  mortar  ! 

And  fare  you  well  to  the  hod  and  lime  ! 
For  now  I'm  courtin'  the  ganger's  daughter, 
And  soon  I'll  lift  my  lyin'  time." 

He  finished  off  at  that,  as  I  came  near,  and  I  noticed  a 
heavy  bulge  under  his  left  oxter  between  the  coat  and 
waistcoat.  It  was  something  new  ;  I  asked  him  what  it 
was,  but  he  wouldn't  tell  me.  The  road  ran  through  a 
rocky  moor,  but  here  and  there  clumps  of  hazel  bounded 
our  way.  We  could  see  at  times  soft-eyed  curious  Highland 
steers  gazing  out  at  us  from  amongst  the  bushes,  as  if  they 
were  surprised  to  see  human  beings  in  that  deserted 
neighbourhood.  When  we  stood  and  looked  at  them  they 
snorted  in  contempt  and  crashed  away  from  our  sight 
through  the  copsewood. 


THE  OPEN   ROAD  159 

"  I  think  that  we'll  doss  here  for  the  night,"  said  Mole- 
skin when  we  had  walked  about  a  mile  further.  He 
crawled  over  a  wayside  dyke  and  threw  down  the  bundle 
which  he  had  up  to  that  time  concealed  under  his  coat. 
It  was  a  dead  hen. 

"  The  corpse  of  a  hen,"  said  Joe  with  a  laugh.  "  Now 
we've  got  to  drum  up,"  he  went  on,  "  and  get  some  supper 
before  the  dew  falls.  It  is  a  hard  job  to  light  a  fire  when 
the  night  is  on." 

From  experience  I  knew  this  to  be  the  case  ;  so  together 
we  broke  rotten  hazel  twigs,  collected  some  dry  brambles 
from  the  undergrowth  and  built  them  in  a  heap.  Joe 
placed  some  crisp  moss  under  the  pile  ;  I  applied  a  match 
and  in  a  moment  we  had  a  brightly  blazing  fire.  I  emptied 
my  pockets,  proud  to  display  the  results  of  the  afternoon's 
work,  which,  when  totalled,  consisted  of  four  slices  of 
bread,  twopence,  and  about  one  half-ounce  of  tobacco. 
Joe  produced  some  more  bread,  his  penny,  and  three  little 
packets  which  contained  tea,  sugar,  and  salt.  These,  he 
told  me,  he  had  procured  from  a  young  girl  in  a  plough- 
man's cottage. 

"  But  the  hen,  Moleskin — where  did  you  get  that  ?  "  I 
asked,  when  I  had  gathered  in  some  extra  wood  for  the 
fire. 

"  On  the  king's  highway,  Flynn,"  he  added  with  a  touch 
of  pardonable  pride.  "  Coaxed  it  near  me  with  crumbs 
until  I  nabbed  it.  It  made  an  awful  fuss  when  I  was 
wringing  its  neck,  but  no  one  turned  up,  more  by  good 
luck  than  anything  else.  I  never  caught  any  hen  that  made 
such  a  noise  in  all  my  life  before." 

"  You  are  used  to  it  then  !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Of  course  I  am,"  was  the  answer.  "  When  you  are  on 
the  road  as  long  as  I've  been  on  it,  you'll  be  as  big  a  belly- 
thief  *  as  myself." 

*  One  who  steals  to  satisfy  his  hunger. 


i6o    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

It  was  fine  to  look  around  as  the  sun  went  down.  Far 
west  the  sky  was  a  dark  red,  the  colour  of  old  wine.  A 
pale  moon  had  stolen  up  the  eastern  sky,  and  it  hung  by  its 
horn  from  the  blue  above  us.  Looking  up  at  it,  my  thoughts 
turned  to  home,  and  I  wondered  what  my  own  people 
would  say  if  they  saw  me  out  here  on  the  ghostly  moor 
along  with  old  Moleskin. 

I  searched  around  for  water,  and  found  a  little  well  with 
the  moon  at  the  bottom.  As  I  bent  closer  the  moon  dis- 
appeared, and  I  could  see  the  white  sand  beneath.  I 
thought  that  the  well  was  very  holy,  it  looked  so  peaceful 
and  calm  out  there  alone  in  the  wild  place.  I  said  to  myself, 
"  Has  anybody  ever  seen  it  before  ?  What  purpose  does 
it  serve  here  ?  "  I  filled  the  billies,  and  when  turning  away 
I  noticed  that  a  pair  of  eyes  were  gazing  at  me  from  the 
depths  of  the  near  thicket  where  a  heavy  darkness  had 
settled.  I  felt  a  little  bit  frightened,  and  hurried  towards 
the  fire,  and  once  there  I  looked  back.  A  large  roan  steer 
came  into  the  clearing  and  drank  at  the  well.  Another 
followed,  and  another.  Their  spreading  horns  glistened 
in  the  moonshine,  and  Joe  and  I  watched  them  from  where 
we  sat. 

"  Will  I  take  some  more  water  here  ?  "  I  asked  my  mate, 
as  he  cleaned  out  the  hen,  using  the  contents  of  the  second 
billy  in  the  operation. 

"  Wait  a  minute  till  all  the  bullocks  have  drunk  enough," 
he  replied.  "  It's  a  pity  to  drive  them  away." 

The  fowl  was  cooked  whole  on  the  ashes,  and  we  ate  it 
with  great  relish.  When  the  meal  was  finished,  Moleskin 
flung  away  the  bones. 

"  The  skeleton  of  the  feast,"  he  remarked  sadly. 

Next  day  was  dry,  and  we  got  plenty  of  food,  food  enough 
and  to  spare,  and  we  made  much  progress  on  the  journey 
north.  Joe  had  an  argument  with  a  ploughman.  This  was 
the  way  of  it. 


THE  OPEN   ROAD  161 

Coming  round  a  bend  of  the  road  we  met  a  man  with  the 
wet  clay  of  the  newly  turned  earth  heavy  on  his  shoes. 
He  was  knock-kneed  in  the  manner  of  ploughmen  who 
place  their  feet  against  the  slant  of  the  furrows  which  they 
follow  day  by  day.  He  was  a  decent  man,  and  he  told 
Moleskin  as  much  when  my  mate  asked  him  for  a  chew  of 
tobacco. 

"  I  dinna  gang  aboot  lookin'  for  work  and  prayin'  to 
God  that  I  dinna  get  it,  like  you  men,"  said  the  plougher. 
"  I'm  a  decent  man,  and  I  work  hard  and  hae  no  reason  to 
gang  about  beggin'." 

I  was  turning  my  wits  upside  down  for  a  sarcastic  answer, 
when  Joe  broke  in. 

"  You're  too  damned  decent !  "  he  answered.  "  If  you 
weren't,  you'd  give  a  man  a  plug  of  tobacco  when  he  asks 
for  it  in  a  friendly  way,  you  God-forsaken,  thran-faced 
bell-wether,  you  !  " 

"  If  you  did  your  work  well  and  take  a  job  when  you  get 
one,  you'd  have  tobacco  of  your  own,"  said  the  ploughman. 
"  Forbye  you  would  have  a  hoose  and  a  wife  and  a  dinner 
ready  for  you  when  you  went  hame  in  the  evenin'.  As  it 
is,  you're  daunderin'  aboot  like  a  lost  flea,  too  lazy  to 
leeve  and  too  afeard  to  dee." 

"  By  Christ  !  I  wouldn't  be  in  your  shoes,  anyway," 
Joe  broke  in  quietly  and  soberly,  a  sign  that  he  was  aware 
of  having  encountered  an  enemy  worthy  of  his  steel.  "  A 
man  might  as  well  expect  an  old  sow  to  go  up  a  tree  back- 
wards and  whistle  like  a  thrush,  as  expect  decency  from  a 
nipple-noddled  ninny-hammer  like  you.  If  you  were  a  man 
like  me,  you  would  not  be  tied  to  a  woman's  apron  strings 
all  your  life  ;  you  would  be  fit  to  take  your  turn  and  pay 
for  it.  Look  at  me  !  I'm  not  at  the  beck  and  call  of  any 
woman  that  takes  a  calf  fancy  for  me." 

"  Who  would  take  a  fancy  to  you  ?  " 

:<  You  marry  a  wench  and  set  up  a  beggarly  house,"  said 

M 


162    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

Joe,  without  taking  any  heed  of  the  interruption.     "  You 
work  fourteen  or  fifteen  hours  a  day  for  every  day  of  the 
year.     If  you  find  the  company  of  another  woman  pleasant 
you  have  your  old  crow  to  jaw  at  you  from  the  chimney 
corner.     You'll  bring  up  a  breed  of  children  that  will  leave 
you  when  you  need  them  most.     Your  wife  will  get  old, 
her  teeth  will  fall  out,  and  her  hair  will  get  thin,  until  she 
becomes  as  bald  as  the  sole  of  your  foot.     She'll  get  uglier 
until  you  loathe  the  sight  of  her,  and  find  one  day  that  you 
cannot  kiss  her  for  the  love  of  God.    But  all  the  time  you'll 
have  to  stay  with  her,  growl  at  her,  and  nothin'  before  both 
of  you  but  the  grave  or  the  workhouse.     If  you  are  as 
clever  a  cadger  as  me  why  do  you  suffer  all  this  ?  " 
"  Because  I'm  a  decent  man,"  said  the  plougher. 
Joe  straightened  up  as  if  seriously  insulted.    "  Well, 
I'm  damned  !  "  he  muttered  and  continued  on  his  journey. 
"  It's  the  first  time  ever  I  got  the  worst  of  an  argument, 
Flynn,"  he  said  after  we  had  gone  out  of  the  sight  of  the 
ploughman,  and  he  kept  repeating  this  phrase  for  the  rest 
of  the  day.    For  myself,  I  thought  that  Joe  got  the  best 
of  the  argument,  and  I  pointed  out  the  merits  of  his  sar- 
castic remarks  and  proved  to  him  that  if  his  opponent  had 
not  been  a  brainless  man,  he  would  be  aware  of  defeat 
after  the  first  exchange  of  sallies. 

"  But  that  about  the  decent  man  was  one  up  for  him," 
Joe  interrupted. 

"  It  was  the  only  remark  which  the  man  was  able  to 
make,"  I  said.  "  The  pig  has  its  grunt,  the  bull  its  bellow, 
the  cock  its  crow,  and  the  plougher  his  boasted  decency. 
To  each  his  crow,  grunt,  boast,  or  bellow,  and  to  all  their 
ignorance.  It  is  impossible  to  argue  against  ignorance,  Mole- 
skin. It  is  proof  against  sarcasm  and  satire  and  is  blind 
to  its  own  failings  and  the  merits  of  clever  men  like  you." 
Joe  brightened  perceptibly,  and  he  walked  along  with 
elated  stride. 


THE  OPEN   ROAD  163 

"  You're  very  clever,  Flynn,"  he  said.  "  And  you  think 
I  won  ?  " 

"  You  certainly  did.  The  last  shot  thrown  at  you 
struck  the  man  who  threw  it  full  in  the  face.  He  admitted 
that  he  suffered  because  of  his  decency." 

Joe  was  now  quite  pleased  with  himself,  and  the  rest  of 
the  day  passed  without  any  further  adventure. 

On  the  day  following  it  rained  and  rained.  We  tasted 
the  dye  of  our  caps  as  the  water  washed  it  down  our  faces 
into  our  mouths.  By  noon  we  came  to  the  crest  of  a  hill 
and  looked  into  a  wild  sweep  of  valley  below.  The  valley 
— it  was  Glencoe — from  its  centre  had  a  reach  of  miles 
on  either  side,  and  standing  on  its  rim  we  were  mere  midges 
perched  on  the  copestones  of  an  amphitheatre  set  apart 
for  the  play  of  giants.  Far  away,  amongst  grey  boulders 
that  burrowed  into  steep  inclines,  we  could  see  a  pigmy 
cottage  sending  a  wreath  of  blue  spectral  smoke  into  the 
air.  No  other  sign  of  human  life  could  be  seen.  The 
cottage  was  subdued  by  its  surroundings,  the  movement  of 
the  ascending  smoke  was  a  sacrilege  against  the  spell  of 
the  desolate  places. 

"  It  looks  lonely,"  I  said  to  my  mate. 

"  As  hell !  "  he  added,  taking  up  the  words  as  they  fell 
from  my  tongue. 

We  took  our  meal  of  bread  and  water  on  the  ledge  and 
saved  up  the  crumbs  for  our  supper.  When  night  came 
we  turned  into  a  field  that  lay  near  the  cottage,  which  we 
had  seen  from  a  distance  earlier  in  the  day. 

"  It's  a  god's  charity  to  have  a  shut  gate  between  us  and 
the  world,"  said  Moleskin,  as  he  fastened  the  bars  of  the 
fence.  Some  bullocks  were  resting  under  a  hazel  clump. 
These  we  chased  away,  and  sat  down  on  the  spot  which 
their  bellies  had  warmed,  and  endeavoured  to  light  our 
fire.  From  under  grey  rocks,  and  from  the  crevices  in  the 
stone  dyke,  we  picked  out  light,  dry  twigs,  and  in  the 


164    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

course  of  an  hour  we  had  a  blazing  flame,  around  which  we 
dried  our  wet  clothes.  The  clouds  had  cleared  away  and 
the  moon  came  out  silently  from  behind  the  shadow  of  the 
hills.  The  night  was  calm  as  the  face  of  a  sleeping  girl. 

We  lay  down  together  when  we  had  eaten  our  crumbs, 
but  for  a  long  while  I  kept  awake.  A  wind,  soft  as  the 
breath  of  a  child,  ruffled  the  bushes  beside  us  and  died  away 
in  a  long-drawn  swoon.  Far  in  the  distance  I  could  hear 
another,  for  it  was  the  night  of  many  winds,  beating  against 
the  bald  peaks  that  thrust  their  pointed  spires  into  the 
mystery  of  the  heavens.  From  time  to  time  I  could  hear 
the  falling  earth  as  it  was  loosened  from  its  century-long 
resting  place  and  flung  heavily  into  the  womb  of  some 
fathomless  abyss.  God  was  still  busy  with  the  work  of 
creation  ! 

I  was  close  to  the  earth,  almost  part  of  it,  and  the  smell 
of  the  wet  sod  was  heavy  in  my  nostrils.  It  was  the 
breath  of  the  world,  the  world  that  was  in  the  eternal 
throes  of  change  all  around  me.  Nature  was  restless  and 
throbbing  with  movement ;  streams  were  gliding  forward 
filled  with  a  longing  for  unknown  waters  ;  winds  were 
moving  to  and  fro  with  the  indecision  of  homeless  way- 
farers ;  leaves  were  dropping  from  the  brown  branches, 
falling  down  the  curves  of  the  wind  silently  and  slowly 
to  the  great  earth  that  whispered  out  the  secret  of  ever- 
lasting change.  The  hazel  clump  twined  its  trellises  of 
branches  overhead,  leaving  spaces  at  random  for  the  eternal 
glory  of  the  stars  to  filter  through  and  rest  on  our  faces. 
Joe,  bearded  and  wrinkled,  slept  and  dreamt  perhaps  of 
some  night's  heavy  drinking  and  desperate  fighting,  or 
maybe  his  dreams  were  of  some  weary  shift  which  had  been 
laboured  out  in  the  lonely  places  of  the  world. 

Coming  across  the  line  of  hills  could  be  heard  the  gather- 
ing of  the  sea,  and  the  chant  of  the  deep  waters  that  were 
for  ever  voicing  their  secrets  to  the  throbbing  shores. 


THE  OPEN   ROAD  165 

The  fire  burned  down  but  I  could  not  go  to  sleep.  I 
looked  in  the  dying  embers,  and  saw  pictures  in  the  flames 
and  the  redness  ;  pictures  of  men  and  women,  and  strange 
pictures  of  forlorn  hopes  and  blasted  expectations.  I  saw 
weary  kinless  outcasts  wandering  over  deserted  roads, 
shunned  and  accursed  of  all  their  kind.  Also  I  saw  women, 
old  women,  who  dragged  out  a  sordid  existence,  labouring 
like  beasts  of  burden  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave.  Also 
pictures  of  young  women  with  the  blood  of  early  life  in  them, 
and  the  fulness  of  maiden  promise  in  them,  walking  one 
by  one  in  the  streets  of  the  midnight  city — young  women, 
fair  and  beautiful,  who  knew  of  an  easier  means  of  liveli- 
hood than  that  which  is  offered  by  learning  the  uses  of 
sewing-needle  or  loom-spindle  in  fetid  garret  or  steam- 
driven  mill.  In  the  flames  and  the  redness  I  saw  pictures 
of  men  and  women  who  suffered  ;  for  in  that,  and  that  only, 
there  is  very  little  change  through  all  the  ages.  Thinking 
thus  I  fell  asleep. 

When  I  awoke,  all  the  glory  of  the  .naked  world  was 
aflame  with  the  early  sun.  The  red  mud  of  our  moleskins 
blended  in  harmony  with  the  tints  of  the  great  dawn.  The 
bullocks  were  busy  with  their  breakfasts  and  bore  us  no 
ill-will  for  the  wrong  which  we  had  done  them  the  night 
before.  Two  snails  had  crawled  over  Joe's  coat,  leaving 
a  trail  of  slimy  silver  behind  them,  and  a  couple  of  beetles 
had  found  a  resting-place  in  the  seams  of  his  velvet  waist- 
coat. He  rubbed  his  eyes  when  I  called  to  him  and  sat  up. 

The  snails  curled  up  in  mute  protest  on  the  ground,  and 
the  beetles  hurried  off  and  lost  themselves  amid  the  blades 
of  grass.  Joe  made  no  effort  to  kill  the  insects.  He  lifted 
the  snails  off  his  coat  and  laid  them  down  easily  on  the 
grass.  "  Run,  you  little  devils  !  "  he  said  with  a  laugh,  as 
he  looked  at  the  scurrying  beetles.  "  You  haven't  got 
hold  of  me  yet,  mind." 

I  never  saw  Joe  kill  an  insect,     He  did  not  like  to  do  so, 


166    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

he  often  told  me.  "  If  we  think  evil  of  insects,  what  will 
they  think  of  us  ?  "  he  said  to  me  once.  As  for  myself,  I 
have  never  killed  an  insect  knowingly  in  all  my  life.  My 
house  for  so  long  has  been  the  wide  world,  that  I  can 
afford  to  look  leniently  on  all  other  inmates,  animal  or 
human.  Four  walls  coffin  the  human  sympathies. 

When  I  rose  to  my  feet  I  felt  stiff  and  sore,  and  there  was 
nothing  to  eat  for  breakfast.  My  mate  alluded  to  this 
when  he  said  bitterly  :  "I  wish  to  God  that  I  was  a 
bullock !  " 

A  crow  was  perched  on  a  bush  some  distance  away,  its 
head  a  little  to  one  side,  and  it  kept  eyeing  us  with  a  look 
of  half  quizzical  contempt.  When  Joe  saw  it  he  jumped 
to  his  feet. 

"  A  hooded  crow  !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  I  think  that  it  is  as  well  to  start  off,"  I  said.  "  We 
must  try  and  pick  up  something  for  breakfast." 

My  mate  was  still  gazing  at  the  tree,  and  he  took  no  heed 
to  my  remark.  "  A  hooded  crow  !  "  he  repeated,  and 
lifting  a  stone  flung  it  at  the  bird. 

"  What  about  it  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Them  birds,  they  eat  dead  men,"  Moleskin  answered, 
as  the  crow  flew  away.  "  There  was  Muck  Devaney — 
Red  Muck  we  called  him — and  he  worked  at  the  Toward 
waterworks  three  winters  ago.  Red  Muck  had  a  temper 
like  an  Orangeman,  and  so  had  the  ganger.  The  two  of 
them  had  a  row  about  some  contract  job,  and  Devaney 
lifted  his  lyin'  time  and  jacked  the  graft  altogether.  There 
was  a  heavy  snow  on  the  ground  when  he  left  our  shack  in 
the  evenin',  and  no  sooner  were  his  heels  out  of  sight  than 
a  blizzard  came  on.  You  know  Toward  Mountain,  Flynn  ? 
Yes.  Well,  it  is  seven  long  miles  from  the  top  of  the  hill  to 
the  nearest  town.  Devaney  never  finished  his  journey. 
We  found  him  when  the  thaw  came  on,  and  he  was  lyin' 
stiff  as  a  bone  in  a  heap  of  snow.  And  them  hooded  crows  ! 


THE   OPEN   ROAD  167 

There  was  dozens  of  them  pickin'  the  flesh  from  his  naked 
shoulder-blades.  They  had  eat  the  very  guts  clean  out 
of  Red  Muck,  so  we  had  to  bury  him  as  naked  as  a  new- 
born baby.  By  God  !  Flynn,  they're  one  of  the  things 
that  I  am  afraid  of  in  this  world,  them  same  hooded  crows. 
Just  think  of  it  !  maybe  that  one  that  I  just  threw  the 
stone  at  was  one  of  them  as  gobbled  up  the  flesh  of  Muck 
Devaney." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  COCK  OF  THE  NORTH 

Though  up  may  be  up  and  down  be  down, 

Time  will  make  everything  even, 
And  the  man  who  starves  at  Greenock  town 
Will  fatten  at  Kinlochleven  ; 

So  what  does  it  matter  if  time  be  fleet, 

And  life  sends  no  one  to  love  us  ? 
We've  the  dust  of  the  roadway  under  our  feet 

And  a  smother  of  stars  above  us. 

— A  Wee  Song. 

I  THINK  that  the  two  verses  given  above  were  the 
best  verses  of  a  song  which  I  wrote  on  a  bit  of  tea- 
paper  and  read  to  Moleskin  on  the  last  day  of  our 
journey  to  Kinlochleven.  Anyhow,  they  are  the  only  two 
which  I  remember.  Since  I  had  read  part  of  the  poem 
"  Evelyn  Hope,"  I  was  possessed  of  a  leaning  towards 
lilting  rhymes,  and  now  and  again  I  would  sit  down  and 
scribble  a  few  lines  of  a  song  on  a  piece  of  paper.  Times 
were  when  I  had  a  burning  desire  to  read  my  effusions  to 
Moleskin,  but  always  I  desisted,  thinking  that  he  would 
perhaps  laugh  at  me,  or  call  me  fool.  Perhaps  I  would 
sink  in  my  mate's  estimation.  I  began  to  like  Joe  more 
and  more,  and  daily  it  became  apparent  that  he  had  a 
genuine  liking  for  me. 

We  were  now  six  days  on  our  journey.  Charity  was 
cold,  while  belly-thefts  were  few  and  far  between.  We  were 
hungry,  and  the  weather  being  very  hot  at  high  noon, 
Moleskin  lay  down  and  had  his  dog-sleep.  I  wrote  a  few 
other  verses  in  addition  to  those  which  herald  this  chapter, 


THE  COCK   OF  THE  NORTH      169 

and  read  them  to  my  mate  when  he  awoke.  When  I  had 
finished  I  asked  Joe  how  he  liked  my  poem. 

"  It's  a  great  song,"  answered  Moleskin.  "  You're 
nearly  as  good  a  poet  as  Two-shift  Mullholland." 

"  Two-shift  Mullholland  ?  "  I  repeated.  "  I've  never 
heard  of  him.  Do  you  know  anything  written  by  him  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  do.  Have  you  never  heard  of  '  The 
Shootin'  of  the  Crow  '  ?  " 

"  Never,"  I  replied. 

"  You're  more  ignorant  than  I  thought,"  said  Joe,  and 
without  any  further  explanation  he  started  and  sang  the 
following  song. 

"  THE  SHOOTIN'  OF  THE  CROW. 

"  Come  all  you  true-born  navvies,  attend  unto  my  lay  ! 
While  walkin'  down  through  Glasgow  town,  'twas  just  the  other 

day, 

I  met  with  Hell-fire  Gahey,  and  he  says  to  me  :   '  Hallo  ! 
Maloney  has  got  seven  days  for  shoo  tin'  of  the  crow ; 
With  his  fol  the  diddle,  fol  the  diddle  daddy. 

"  '  It  happened  near  beside  the  docks  in  Moran's  pub,  I'm  told 
Maloney  had  been  on  the  booze,  Maloney  had  a  cold, 
Maloney  had  no  beer  to  drink,  Maloney  had  no  tin, 
Maloney  could  not  pay  his  way  and  so  they  ran  him  in, 
With  his  fol  the  diddle,  fol  the  diddle  daddy.' 

"  The  judge  he  saw  Maloney  and  he  says,  '  You're  up  again  ! 

To  sentence  you  to  seven  days  it  gives  me  greatest  pain, 

My  sorrow  at  your  woeful  plight  I  try  for  to  control ; 

And  may  the  Lord,  Maloney,  have  mercy  on  your  soul, 

And  your  fol  the  diddle,  fol  the  diddle  daddy.' 

"  Oh  !  labour  in  the  prison  yard,  'tis  very  hard  to  bear, 
And  many  a  honest  navvy  man  may  sometimes  enter  there ; 
So  here's  to  brave  Maloney,  and  may  he  never  go 
Again  to  work  in  prison  for  the  shootin'  of  the  crow, 
With  his  fol  the  diddle,  fol  the  diddle  daddy." 

The  reader  of  this  story  can  well  judge  my  utter  literary 
simplicity  at  the  time  when  I  tell  him  that  I  was  angry  with 
Joe  for  the  criticism  he  passed  upon  my  poem.  While 
blind  to  the  defects  of  my  own  verses  I  was  wide  awake 


170    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

to  those  of  Mullholland,  and  I  waited,  angrily  eager,  until 
Joe  finished  the  song. 

"  It's  rotten  !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  You  surely  do  not  think 
that  it  is  better  than  mine.  What  does  '  fol  the  diddle ' 
mean  ?  A  judge  would  not  say  that  to  a  prisoner.  Neither 
would  he  say,  '  May  the  Lord  have  mercy  on  your  soul/ 
unless  he  was  going  to  pass  the  sentence  of  death  on  the 
man." 

"  What  you  say  is  quite  right,"  replied  Joe.  "  But  a 
song  to  be  any  good  at  all  must  have  a  lilt  at  the  tail  of 
it ;  and  as  to  the  judge  sayin',  '  May  the  Lord  have  mercy 
on  your  soul/  maybe  he  didn't  say  it,  but  if  you  have 
'  control '  at  the  end  of  one  line,  what  must  you  have  at 
the  end  of  the  next  one,  cully  ?  '  May  the  Lord  have  mercy 
on  your  soul '  may  be  wrong.  I'll  not  misdoubt  that. 
But  doesn't  it  fit  in  nicely  ?  " 

Moleskin  gave  me  a  square  look  of  triumph,  and  went  on 
with  his  harangue. 

"  Barrin'  these  two  things,  the  song  is  a  true  one. 
Maloney  did  get  seven  days'  hard  for  shootin'  the  crow,  and 
I  mind  it  myself.  On  the  night  of  his  release  I  saw  him  in 
Moran's  model  by  the  wharf,  and  it  was  in  that  same  model 
that  Mullholland  sat  down  and  wrote  the  song  that  I  have 
sung  to  you.  It's  a  true  song,  so  help  me  God !  but  yours  ! 
— How  do  you  know  that  we'll  fatten  at  Kinlochleven  ? 
More  apt  to  go  empty-gutted  there,  if  you  believe  me  ! 
Then  you  say  '  up  is  up,  and  down  is  down.'  Who  says 
that  they  are  not  ?  No  one  will  give  the  lie  to  that,  and 
what's  the  good  of  sayin'  a  thing  that  everyone  knows 
about  ?  You've  not  even  a  lilt  at  the  tail  of  your  screed, 
so  it's  not  a  song,  nor  half  a  song  ;  it's  not  even  a  decent 
'  Come-all-you/  Honest  to  God,  you're  a  fool,  Flynn  ! 
Wait  till  you  hear  Broken-Snout  Clancy  sing  '  The  Bold 
Navvy  Man  !  '  That'll  be  the  song  that  will  make  your 
heart  warm.  But  your  song  was  no  good  at  all, 


THE  COCK  OF  THE  NORTH      171 

Flynn.  If  it  had  only  a  lilt  to  it  itself,  it  might  be 
middlin'." 

I  recited  the  verse  about  Evelyn  Hope,  and  when  I 
finished,  Joe  asked  me  what  it  was  about.  I  confessed 
that  I  did  not  exactly  know,  and  for  an  hour  afterwards 
we  walked  together  in  silence. 

Late  in  the  evening  we  came  to  the  King's  Arms,  a  lonely 
public-house  half-way  between  the  Bridge  of  Orchy  and 
Kinlochleven.  We  hung  around  the  building  until  night 
fell,  for  Joe  became  interested  in  an  outhouse  where  hens 
were  roosting.  By  an  estimation  of  the  stars  it  was  nearly 
midnight  when  both  of  us  took  off  our  boots,  and  approached 
the  henhouse.  The  door  was  locked,  but  my  mate  inserted 
a  pointed  steel  bar,  which  he  always  carried  in  his  pocket, 
in  the  keyhole,  and  after  he  had  worked  for  half  a  minute 
the  door  swung  open  and  he  crept  in. 

"  Leave  all  to  me,"  he  said  in  a  whisper. 

The  hens  were  restless,  and  made  little  hiccoughy  noises 
in  their  throats,  noises  that  were  not  nice  to  listen  to.  I 
stood  in  the  centre  of  the  building  while  Joe  groped  cauti- 
ously around.  After  a  little  while  he  passed  me  and  I 
could  see  his  big  gaunt  form  in  the  doorway. 

"  Come  away,"  he  whispered. 

About  twenty  yards  from  the  inn  he  threw  down  that 
which  he  carried  and  we  proceeded  to  put  on  our 
boots. 

"  It's  a  rooster,"  he  said,  pointing  to  the  dead  fowl ; 
"  a  young  soft  one  too.  When  our  boots  are  on,  we'll 
slide  along  for  a  mile  or  so  and  drum  up.  It's  not  the  thing 
to  cook  your  fowl  on  the  spot  where  you  stole  it.  I  mind 
once  when  I  lifted  a  young  pig " 

Suddenly  the  young  rooster  fluttered  to  its  feet  and 
started  to  crow. 

"  Holy  hell !  "  cried  Moleskin,  and  jumping  to  his  feet 
he  flung  one  of  his  boots  at  the  fowl.  The  aim  was  bad, 


172    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

and  the  bird  zig-zagged  off,  crowing  loudly.  Both  of  us 
gave  chase. 

The  bird  was  a  very  demon.  Several  times  when  we 
thought  that  we  had  laid  hands  on  it,  it  doubled  in  its 
tracks  like  a  cornered  fox  and  eluded  us.  Once  I  tried  to 
hit  it  with  my  foot,  but  the  blow  swung  clear,  and  my 
hobnailed  boot  took  Moleskin  on  the  shin,  causing  him  to 
swear  deeply. 

"  Fall  on  it,  Joe  ;  it's  the  only  way  !  "  I  cried  softly. 

"  Fall  be  damned  !  You  might  as  well  try  to  fall  on  a 
moonbeam." 

A  light  appeared  at  the  window  of  the  public-house ; 
a  sash  was  thrown  open,  and  somebody  shouted,  "  Who  is 
there  ?  " 

"  Can  you  get  hold  of  it  ?  "  asked  Joe,  as  he  stood  to 
clean  the  sweat  from  his  unshaven  face. 

"  I  cannot,"  I  answered.     "  It's  a  wonderful  bird." 

"  Wonderful  damned  fraud  !  "  said  my  mate  bitterly. 
"  Why  didn't  it  die  decent  ?  " 

"  Who's  there  ?  I  say,"  shouted  the  man  at  the  window. 
I  made  a  desperate  rush  after  the  rooster,  and  grabbed 
it  by  the  neck. 

"  It  will  not  get  away  this  time,  anyhow,"  I  said. 

"  Where  is  my  other  boot,  Flynn  ?  "  called  out  Joe. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  I  replied  truthfully. 

The  door  opened,  and  Moleskin's  boot  was  not  to  be  found. 
We  sank  into  the  shadow  of  the  earth  and  waited,  meanwhile 
groping  around  with  our  hands  for  the  missing  property. 
Across  the  level  a  man  came  towards  us  slowly  and  cauti- 
ously. 

"  We  had  better  run  for  it,"  I  said. 

We  rushed  off  like  the  wind,  and  the  stranger  panted  in 
pursuit  behind  us.  Joe  with  a  single  boot  on,  struck  the 
ground  heavily  with  one  foot ;  the  other  made  no  sound. 
He  struck  his  toe  on  a  rock  and  swore ;  when  he  struck  it  a 


THE  COCK  OF  THE  NORTH      173 

second  time  he  stopped  like  a  shot  and  turned  round. 
The  pursuer  came  to  a  halt  also. 

"  If  you  come  another  step  nearer,  I'll  batter  your  head 
into  jelly  !  "  roared  Moleskin.  The  man  turned  hurriedly, 
and  went  back.  Feeling  relieved  we  walked  on  for  a  long 
distance,  until  we  came  to  a  stream.  Here  I  lit  a  fire, 
plucked  the  rooster  and  cooked  it,  while  Joe  dressed  his 
toe,  and  cursed  the  fowl  that  caused  him  such  a  calamity. 
I  gave  one  of  my  boots  to  Joe  and  threw  the  other  one  away. 
Joe  was  wounded,  and  being  used  in  my  early  days  to  go 
barefooted,  I  always  hated  the  imprisonment  of  boots. 
I  determined  to  go  barefooted  into  Kinlochleven. 

"  Do  you  hear  it  ?  "  Joe  suddenly  cried,  jumping  up  and 
grabbing  my  arm. 

I  listened,  and  the  sound  of  exploding  dynamite  could  be 
heard  in  the  far  distance. 

"  The  navvies  on  the  night-shift,  blastin'  rocks  in  Kin- 
lochleven !  "  cried  Joe,  jumping  to  his  feet  and  waving  a 
wing  of  the  fowl  over  his  head.  "  Hurrah  !  There's  a 
good  time  comin',  though  we  may  never  live  to  see  it. 
Hurrah  !  " 

"  Hurrah !  "  I  shouted,  for  I  was  glad  that  our  travels 
were  near  at  an  end. 

Although  it  was  a  long  cry  till  the  dawn,  we  kicked  our 
fire  in  to  the  air  and  set  out  again  on  our  journey,  Joe 
limping,  and  myself  barefooted.  We  finished  our  supper 
as  we  walked,  and  each  man  was  silent,  busy  with  his  own 
thoughts. 

For  myself  I  wanted  to  make  some  money  and  send  it 
home  to  my  own  people  in  Glenmornan.  I  reasoned  with 
myself  that  it  was  unjust  for  my  parents  to  expect  me  to 
work  for  their  betterment.  Finding  it  hard  enough  to 
earn  my  own  livelihood,  why  should  I  irk  myself  about 
them  ?  I  was,  like  Moleskin,  an  Ishmaelite,  who  without 
raising  my  hand  against  every  man,  had  every  man's  hand 


174    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

against  me.  Men  like  Moleskin  and  myself  are  trodden 
underfoot,  that  others  may  enjoy  the  fruit  of  centuries 
of  enlightenment.  I  cursed  the  day  that  first  saw  me, 
but,  strangely  inconsistent  with  this  train  of  thought,  I  was 
eager  to  get  on  to  Kinlochleven  and  make  money  to  send 
to  my  own  people  in  Glenmornan. 


CHAPTER    XXIV 

MECCA 

"  Oh,  God  !  that  this  was  ended  ;   that  this  our  toil  was  past ! 
Our  cattle  die  untended  ;    our  lea-lands  wither  fast ; 
Our  bread  is  lacking  leaven  ;    our  life  is  lacking  friends, 
And  short's  our  prayer  to  Heaven  for  all  that  Heaven  sends." 

— From  God's  Poor. 

THE  cold  tang  of  the  dawn  was  already  in  the  air 
and  the  smell  of  the  earth  was  keen  in  our 
nostrils,  when  Moleskin  and  I  breasted  the 
steep  shoulder  of  a  hill  together,  and  saw  the  outer  line 
of  derricks  standing  gaunt  and  motionless  against  the  bald 
cliffs  of  Kinlochleven.  From  the  crest  of  the  rise  we  could 
see  the  lilac  gray  vesture  of  the  twilight  unfold  itself  from 
off  the  naked  peaks  that  stood  out  boldly  in  the  ghostly  air 
like  carved  gargoyles  of  some  mammoth  sculpture.  A  sense 
of  strange  remoteness  troubled  the  mind,  and  in  the  half- 
light  the  far  distances  seemed  vague  and  unearthly,  and  we 
felt  like  two  atoms  frozen  into  a  sea  of  silence  amidst  the 
splendour  of  complete  isolation.  A  long  way  off  a  line 
of  hills  stood  up,  high  as  the  winds,  and  over  their  storm- 
scarred  ribs  we  saw  or  fancied  we  saw  the  milky  white 
torrents  falling.  We  could  not  hear  the  sound  of  falling 
waters ;  the  white  frothy  torrents  were  the  ghosts  of 
streams. 

The  mood  or  spell  was  one  of  a  moment.  A  derrick  near 
at  hand  clawed  out  with  a  lean  arm,  and  lifted  a  bucket  of 
red  muck  into  the  air,  then  turned  noisily  on  its  pivot,  and 
was  relieved  of  its  burden.  The  sun  burst  out  suddenly 


176    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

like  an  opening  rose,  and  the  garments  of  the  day  were 
thrown  across  the  world.  One  rude  cabin  sent  up  a  gray 
spiral  of  smoke  into  the  air,  then  another  and  another.  We 
sat  on  a  rock,  lit  our  pipes,  and  gazed  on  the  Mecca  of  our 
hopes. 

A  sleepy  hollow  lay  below ;  and  within  it  a  muddle  of 
shacks,  roofed  with  tarred  canvas,  and  built  of  driven  piles, 
were  huddled  together  in  bewildering  confusion.  These 
were  surrounded  by  puddles,  heaps  of  disused  wood,  tins, 
bottles,  and  all  manner  of  discarded  rubbish.  Some  of  the 
shacks  had  windows,  most  of  them  had  none  ;  some  had 
doors  facing  north,  some  south  ;  everything  was  in  a  most 
haphazard  condition,  and  it  looked  as  if  the  buildings 
had  dropped  out  of  the  sky  by  accident,  and  were  just 
allowed  to  remain  where  they  had  fallen.  The  time  was 
now  five  o'clock  in  the  morning  ;  the  night-shift  men  were 
still  at  work  and  the  pounding  of  hammers  and  grating 
noises  of  drills  could  be  heard  distinctly.  The  day-shift 
men,  already  out  of  bed,  were  busily  engaged  preparing 
breakfast,  and  we  could  see  them  hopping  half-naked  around 
the  cabins,  carrying  pans  and  smoking  tins  in  their  hands, 
and  roaring  at  one  another  as  if  all  were  in  a  bad  temper. 

"  I'm  goin'  to  nose  around  and  look  for  a  pair  of  under- 
standin's,"  said  Joe,  as  he  rose  to  his  feet  and  sauntered 
away.  "  You  wait  here  until  I  come  back." 

In  fifteen  minutes'  time  he  returned,  carrying  a  pair  of 
well-worn  boots,  which  he  gave  to  me.  I  put  them  on,  and 
then  together  we  went  towards  the  nearest  cabin. 

Although  it  was  high  mid-summer  the  slush  around  the 
dwelling  rose  over  our  boots,  and  dropped  between  the 
leather  and  our  stockings.  We  entered  the  building,  which 
was  a  large  roomy  single  compartment  that  served  the 
purpose  of  bedroom,  eating-room,  dressing-room,  and 
gambling  saloon.  Some  of  the  inmates  had  sat  up  all 
night  playing  banker,  and  they  were  still  squatting  around 


MECCA  177 

a  rough  plank  where  silver  and  copper  coins  clanked 
noisily  in  the  intervals  between  the  game.  The  room, 
forty  feet  square,  and  ten  foot  high,  contained  fifty 
bed-places,  which  were  ranged  around  the  walls,  and  which 
rose  one  over  the  other  in  three  tiers  reaching  from  the 
ground  to  the  ceiling.  A  spring  oozed  through  the  earthen 
floor,  which  was  nothing  but  a  puddle  of  sticky  clay  and 
water. 

A  dozen  or  more  frying-pans,  crammed  with  musty, 
sizzling  slices  of  bacon,  were  jumbled  together  on  the  red 
hot-plate  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  and  here  and  there  amid 
the  pile  of  pans,  little  black  sooty  cans  of  brewing  tea 
bubbled  merrily.  The  odour  of  the  rank  tea  was  even 
stronger  than  that  of  the  roasting  meat. 

The  men  were  very  ragged,  and  each  of  them  was  covered 
with  a  fine  coating  of  good  healthy  clay.  The  muck  was 
caked  brown  on  the  bare  arms,  and  a  man,  by  contracting 
his  muscles  firmly,  could  break  the  dirt  clear  off  his  skin 
in  hard,  dry  scales.  No  person  of  all  those  on  whom  I 
looked  had  shaved  for  many  months,  and  the  hair  stood 
out  strongly  from  their  cheeks  and  jowls.  I  myself  was  the 
only  hairless  faced  individual  there.  I  had  not  begun  to 
shave  then,  and  even  now  I  only  shave  once  a  fortnight. 
A  few  of  the  men  were  still  in  bed,  and  many  were  just  turn- 
ing out  of  their  bunks.  On  rising  each  man  stood  stark 
naked  on  the  floor,  prior  to  dressing  for  the  day.  None 
were  ashamed  of  their  nakedness  :  the  false  modesty  of 
civilisation  is  unknown  to  the  outside  places.  To  most 
people  the  sight  of  the  naked  human  body  is  repulsive, 
and  they  think  that  for  gracefulness  of  form  and  symmetry 
of  outline  man's  body  is  much  inferior  to  that  of  the 
animals  of  the  field.  I  suppose  all  people,  women  especially, 
are  conscious  of  this,  for  nothing  else  can  explain  the  desire 
to  improve  nature's  handiwork  which  is  inherent  in  all 
human  beings. 

N 


178    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

Joe  and  I  approached  the  gamblers  and  surveyed  the 
game,  looking  over  the  shoulders  of  one  of  the  players. 

"  Much  luck  ?  "  inquired  my  mate. 

"  Not  much,"  answered  the  man  beside  him,  looking 
up  wearily,  although  in  his  eyes  the  passion  of  the  game 
still  burned  brightly. 

"  At  it  all  night  ?  " 

"  All  night,"  replied  the  player,  wearily  picking  up  the 
cards  which  had  been  dealt  out  and  throwing  them  away 
with  an  air  of  disgust. 

"  I'm  broke,"  he  cried,  and  rising  from  his  seat  on  the 
ground,  he  began  to  prepare  his  meal.  The  other  gamblers 
played  on,  and  took  no  notice  of  their  friend's  withdrawal. 

"  It's  nearly  time  that  you  gamblers  stopped,"  someone 
shouted  from  amidst  the  steam  of  the  frying  meat. 

"  Hold  your  damned  tongue,"  roared  one  player,  who 
held  the  bank  and  who  was  overtaking  the  losses  of  the 
night. 

"  Will  someone  cook  my  grub  ?  "  asked  another. 

"  Play  up  and  never  mind  your  mealy  grub,  you  gutsy 
whelp  !  "  snarled  a  third,  who  was  losing  heavily  and  who 
had  forgotten  everything  but  the  outcome  of  the  game. 
Thus  they  played  until  the  whistle  sounded,  calling  all  out 
to  work  ;  and  then  each  man  snatched  up  a  crust  of  bread, 
or  a  couple  of  slices  of  cold  ham,  and  went  out  to  work  in 
the  barrow-squads  or  muck-gangs  where  thousands  laboured 
day  by  day. 

Meanwhile  my  mate  and  I  had  not  been  idle.  I  asked 
several  questions  about  the  work  while  Joe  looked  for  food 
as  if  nothing  else  in  the  world  mattered.  Having  urged 
a  young  fellow  to  share  his  breakfast  with  me,  he  then 
nosed  about  on  his  own  behalf,  and  a  few  minutes  later 
when  I  glanced  around  me  I  saw  my  pal  sitting  on  the 
corner  of  a  ground  bunk,  munclu'ng  a  chunk  of  stale  bread 
and  gulping  down  mighty  mouthfuls  of  black  tea  from  the 


MECCA  179 

sooty  can  in  which  it  had  been  brewed.  On  seeing  me 
watching  him  he  lowered  his  left  eyelid  slightly,  and  went 
solemnly  on  with  his  repast. 

"  We'll  go  out  and  chase  up  a  job  now,"  said  Mole- 
skin, emptying  his  can  of  its  contents  with  a  final  sough. 
"  It  will  be  easy  to  get  a  start.  Red  Billy  Davis,  old  dog 
that  he  is,  wants  three  hammermen,  and  we'll  go  to  him  and 
get  snared  while  it  is  yet  early  in  the  day." 

"  But  how  do  you  know  that  there  are  three  men 
wanted  ?  "  I  asked.  "  I  heard  nothing  about  it,  although 
I  asked  several  persons  if  there  was  any  chance  of  a  job." 

"  You've  a  lot  to  learn,  cully,"  answered  Moleskin. 
"  The  open  ear  is  better  than  the  open  mouth.  I  was 
listenin'  while  you  were  lookin'  around,  and  by  the  talk 
of  the  men  I  found  out  a  thing  or  two.  Come  along." 

We  went  out,  full  of  belly  and  full  of  hope,  and  sought 
for  Red  Billy  Davis  and  his  squad  of  hammermen.  I  had 
great  faith  in  Moleskin,  and  now  being  fully  conscious  of 
his  superior  knowledge  I  was  ready  to  follow  him  any- 
where. After  a  long  search,  we  encountered  a  man  who 
sat  on  the  idle  arm  of  a  crane,  whittling  shavings  off  a 
splinter  of  wood  with  his  clasp-knife.  The  man  was  heavily 
bearded  and  extremely  dirty.  When  he  saw  us  approach- 
ing he  rose  and  looked  at  my  mate. 

"  Moleskin,  by  God  !  "  he  exclaimed,  closing  the  knife 
and  putting  it  in  his  pocket.  "  Are  you  lookin'  for  a 
job  ?  " 

"  Can  you  snare  an  old  hare  this  mornin'  ?  "  asked  Joe. 

"  H'm  !  "  said  the  man. 

"  Pay  ?  "  asked  Joe  laconically. 

"  A  tanner  an  hour,  overtime  seven  and  a  half,"  said 
the  man  with  the  whiskers. 

"  The  hammer  ?  "  asked  Joe. 

"  Hammer  and  jumper,"  answered  the  man.  "  You  can 
take  off  your  coat  now." 


i8o    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

"  This  mate  of  mine  is  lookin'  for  work,  too,"  said  Joe, 
pointing  at  me. 

"  He's  light  of  shoulder  and  lean  as  a  rake,"  replied 
the  bearded  man,  with  undisguised  contempt  in  his  voice. 

My  temper  was  up  in  an  instant.  I  took  a  step  forward 
with  the  intention  of  pulling  the  old  red-haired  buck 
off  his  seat,  when  my  mate  put  in  a  word  on  my 
behalf. 

"  He  knocked  out  Carroty  Dan  in  Burn's  model,"  said 
Joe,  by  way  of  recommendation,  and  my  anger  gave  way 
to  pride  there  and  then. 

"  If  that  is  so  he  can  take  off  his  coat  too,"  said  the  old 
fellow,  pulling  out  his  clasp-knife  and  restarting  on  the 
rod.  "  Hammers  and  jumpers  are  down  in  the  cuttin', 
the  dynamite  is  in  the  cabin  at  the  far  end  on  the  right. 
Slide." 

"  Come  back,  lean-shanks,"  he  called  to  me  as  I  turned 
to  go.  "  What  is  your  name  ?  "  he  asked,  when  I  turned 
round. 

"  Dermod  Flynn,"  I  replied. 

"  You  have  to  pay  me  four  shillin's  when  you  lift  your 
first  pay,"  said  Davis. 

"  That  be  damned  !  "  interrupted  Moleskin. 

"  Four  shillin's,"  repeated  Red  Billy,  laying  down  his 
clasp-knife  and  taking  out  a  note-book  and  making  an 
entry.  "  That's  the  price  I  charge  for  a  pair  of  boots 
like  them." 

Moleskin  looked  at  my  boots,  which  it  appears  he  had 
stolen  from  Red  Billy  in  the  morning.  Then  he  edged 
nearer  to  the  ganger. 

"  Put  the  cost  against  me,"  he  said.  "  I'll  give  you 
two  and  a  tanner  for  the  understanding." 

"  Two  and  a  tanner  it  is,"  said  Red  Billy,  and  shut  the 
book. 

"  You  must  let  me  pay  half,"  I  said  to  Joe  later. 


MECCA  181 

"  Not  at  all,"  he  replied.  "  I  have  the  best  of  the 
bargain." 

He  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket  and  drew  out  something; 
It  was  the  clasp-knife  that  Red  Billy  placed  on  the  ground 
when  making  the  entry  in  his  note-book. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE  MAN  WHO  THRASHED  CARROTY  DAN 

"  He  could  fight  like  a  red,  roaring  bull." 

— MOLESKIN  JOE. 

SIXPENCE  an  hour  meant  thirty  shillings  a  week, 
and  a  man  was  allowed  to  work  overtime  until 
he  fell  at  his  shift.  For  Sunday  work  ninepence 
an  hour  was  given,  so  the  navvies  told  me,  and  now  I 
looked  forward  to  the  time  when  I  would  have  money 
enough  and  to  spare.  In  anticipation  I  computed  my 
weekly  earnings  as  amounting  to  two  pounds  ten,  and  I 
dreamt  of  a  day  in  the  near  future  when  I  could  again 
go  south,  find  Norah  Ryan,  and  take  her  home  as  my  wife 
to  Glenmornan.  I  never  thought  of  making  my  home 
in  a  strange  land.  Oh  !  what  dreams  came  to  me  that 
morning  as  I  took  my  place  among  the  forty  ragged 
members  of  Red  Billy's  gang  !  Life  opened  freshly  ;  my 
morbid  fancies  were  dispelled,  and  I  blessed  the  day  that 
saw  my  birth.  I  looked  forward  to  the  future  and  said 
that  it  was  time  for  me  to  begin  saving  money.  When 
a  man  is  in  misery  he  recoils  from  the  thoughts  of  the 
future,  but  when  he  is  happy  he  looks  forward  in  eager 
delight  to  the  time  to  come. 

The  principal  labour  of  Red  Billy's  gang  was  rock- 
blasting.  This  work  is  very  dangerous  and  requires 
skilful  handling  of  the  hammer.  In  the  art  of  the  hammer 
I  was  quite  an  adept,  for  did  I  not  work  under  Horse 
Roche  on  the  Railway  before  setting  out  for 


CARROTY  DAN  183 

Kinlochleven  ?  Still,  for  all  that,  I  have  known  men  who 
could  not  use  a  hammer  rightly  if  they  worked  with  one 
until  the  crack  of  doom. 

I  was  new  to  the  work  of  the  jumper  gang,  but  I  soon 
learned  how  operations  were  performed.  One  man — the 
"  holder  " — sat  on  the  rock  which  was  to  be  bored,  his 
legs  straight  out  in  front  of  him  and  well  apart.  Between 
his  knees  he  held  the  tempered  steel  drill  with  its  sharp 
nose  thrust  into  the  rock.  The  drill  or  "  jumper  "  is 
about  five  feet  long,  and  the  blunt  upper  end  is  rounded 
to  receive  the  full  force  of  the  descending  hammer.  Five 
men  worked  each  drill,  one  holding  it  to  the  rock  while 
the  other  four  struck  it  with  their  hammers  in  rotation. 
The  work  requires  nerve  and  skill,  for  the  smallest  error 
in  a  striker's  judgment  would  be  fatal  to  the  holder.  The 
hammer  is  swung  clear  from  the  hip  and  travels  eighteen 
feet  or  more  before  it  comes  in  contact  with  the  inch- 
square  upper  end  of  the  jumper.  The  whole  course  of  the 
blow  is  calculated  instinctively  before  the  hammer  rises 
to  the  swing.  This  work  is  classed  as  unskilled  labour. 

When  it  is  considered  that  men  often  work  the  whole 
ten-hour  shift  with  the  eternal  hammer  in  their  hands 
it  is  really  a  wonder  that  more  accidents  do  not  take  place, 
especially  since  the  labour  is  often  performed  after  a 
night's  heavy  drinking  or  gambling.  A  holder  is  seldom 
wounded  ;  when  he  is  struck  he  dies.  Only  once  have 
I  seen  a  man  thus  get  killed.  The  descending  hammer 
flew  clear  of  the  jumper  and  caught  the  poor  fellow  over 
the  temple,  knocking  him  stiff  dead. 

Red  Billy's  gang  was  divided  into  squads,  each  con- 
sisting of  five  persons.  We  completed  a  squad  not  filled 
up  before  our  arrival,  and  proceeded  to  work  with  our 
two  hammers.  Stripped  to  our  trousers  and  shirt,  and 
puffing  happily  at  our  pipes,  we  were  soon  into  the  lie  of 
the  job,  and  swung  our  heavy  hammers  over  our  heads 


184    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

to  the  virile  music  of  meeting  steel.  Most  of  the  men 
knew  Joe.  He  had  worked  somewhere  and  at  some  time 
with  most  on  the  place,  and  all  had  a  warm  word  of  wel- 
come for  Moleskin.  "  By  God,  it's  Moleskin  !  Have  you 
a  chew  of  'baccy  to  spare  ?  "  was  the  usual  form  of  greeting. 
There  was  no  handshake.  It  is  unknown  among  the 
navvies,  just  as  kissing  is  unknown  in  Glenmornan.  For 
a  few  hours  nobody  took  any  notice  of  me,  but  at  last 
my  mate  introduced  me  to  several  of  those  who  had 
gathered  around,  when  we  took  advantage  of  Red  Billy's 
absence  to  fill  our  pipes  and  set  them  alight. 

"  Do  you  know  that  kid  there,  that  mate  of  mine  ?  " 
he  asked,  pointing  at  me  with  his  pipe-shank.  I  felt 
confused,  for  every  eye  was  fixed  on  me,  and  lifting  my 
hammer  I  turned  to  my  work,  trying  thus  to  hide  my 
self -consciousness. 

"  A  blackleg  without  the  spunk  of  a  sparrow  !  "  said 
one  man,  a  tough-looking  fellow  with  the  thumb  of  one 
hand  missing,  who,  not  satisfied  with  taking  off  his  coat 
to  work,  had  taken  off  his  shirt  as  well.  "  What  the  hell 
are  you  workin'  for  when  the  ganger  is  out  of  sight  ?  " 

I  felt  nettled  and  dropped  my  hammer. 

"  I  did  not  know  that  it  was  wrong  to  work  when  the 
ganger  was  out  of  sight,"  I  said  to  the  man  who  had 
spoken.  "  But  if  you  want  to  shove  it  on  to  me  you  are 
in  the  wrong  shop  !  " 

"  That's  the  way  to  speak,  Flynn,"  said  Moleskin 
approvingly.  Then  he  turned  to  the  rest  of  the  men. 

"  That  kid,  that  mate  of  mine,  rose  stripped  naked 
from  his  bed  and  thrashed  Carroty  Dan  in  Burn's  model 
lodging-house,"  he  said.  "  Now  it  takes  a  good  man  to 
thrash  Carroty." 

"  /  knocked  Carroty  out,"  said  the  man  who  accused 
me  of  working  when  the  ganger  was  out  of  sight,  and  he 
looked  covertly  in  my  direction. 


CARROTY  DAN  185 

"  There's  a  chance  for  you,  Flynn  !  "  cried  Moleskin, 
in  a  delighted  voice.  "  You'll  never  get  the  like  of  it 
again.  Just  pitch  into  Hell-fire  Gahey  and  show  him 
how  you  handle  your  pair  of  fives." 

Gahey  looked  at  me  openly  and  eagerly,  evincing  all 
tokens  of  pleasure  and  willingness  to  come  to  fistic  con- 
clusions with  me  there  and  then.  As  for  myself,  I  felt  in 
just  the  right  mood  for  a  bit  of  a  tussle,  but  at  that  moment 
Red  Billy  appeared  from  behind  the  crane  handle  and 
shouted  across  angrily : 

"  Come  along,  you  God-damned,  forsaken,  lousy,  beg- 
garly, forespent  wastrels,  and  get  some  work  done !  "  he 
cried. 

"  Can  a  man  not  get  time  to  light  his  pipe  ?  "  remon- 
strated Moleskin. 

"  Time  in  hell  !  "  shouted  Billy.  "  You're  not  paid  for 
strikin'  matches  here." 

We  started  work  again ;  the  fight  was  off  for  the  moment, 
and  I  felt  sorry.  It  is  disappointing  to  rise  to  a  pitch  of 
excitement  over  nothing ;  and  a  fight  keeps  a  man  alert 
and  alive. 

Having  bored  the  rock  through  to  the  depth  of  four  or 
five  feet,  we  placed  dynamite  in  the  hole,  attached  a  fuse, 
lit  it,  and  hurried  off  to  a  place  of  safety  until  the  rock  was 
blown  to  atoms.  Then  we  returned  to  our  labour  at  the 
jumper  and  hammer. 

Dinner-time  came  around ;  the  men  shared  their  grub 
with  my  mate  and  me,  Hell-fire  Gahey  giving  me  a  con- 
siderable share  of  his  food.  Red  Billy,  who  took  his  grub 
along  with  us,  cut  his  bread  into  thin  slices  with  a  dirty 
tobacco-stained  knife,  and  remarked  that  he  always  liked 
tobacco  juice  for  kitchen.  Red  Billy  chewed  the  cud 
after  eating,  a  most  curious,  but,  as  I  have  learned  since, 
not  an  unprecedented  thing.  He  was  very  proud  of  this 
peculiarity,  and  said  that  the  gift — he  called  it  a  gift — 


i86    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

was  the  outcome  of  a  desire  when  young  and  hungry  to 
chew  over  again  the  food  which  he  had  already  eaten. 

No  one  spoke  of  my  proposed  fight  with  Gahey,  and  I 
wondered  at  this  silence.  I  asked  Moleskin  if  Hell-fire  was 
afraid  of  me. 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Joe.  "  But  he  won't  put  his  dinner- 
hour  to  loss  by  thrashin'  a  light  rung  of  a  cully  like  you. 
That's  the  kind  of  him." 

I  laughed  as  if  enjoying  Joe's  remark,  but  in  my  mind 
I  resolved  to  go  for  Gahey  as  soon  as  I  got  the  chance, 
and  hammer  him,  if  able,  until  he  shrieked  for  mercy. 
It  was  most  annoying  to  know  that  a  man  would  not 
put  his  time  to  loss  in  fighting  me. 

We  finished  work  at  six  o'clock  in  the  evening,  and 
Moleskin  and  I  obtained  two  shillings  of  sub.*  apiece. 
Then  we  set  off  for  the  store,  a  large  rambling  building 
in  which  all  kinds  of  provisions  were  stored,  and  bought 
food.  Having  procured  one  loaf,  one  pound  of  steak,  one 
can  of  condensed  milk  and  a  pennyworth  of  tea  and  sugar, 
we  went  to  our  future  quarters  in  Red  Billy's  shack. 

Our  ganger  built  a  large  shack  at  Kinlochleven  when 
work  was  started  there,  and  furnished  it  with  a  hot-plate, 
beds,  bedding,  and  a  door.  He  forgot  all  about  windows, 
or  at  least  considered  them  unnecessary  for  the  dwelling- 
place  of  navvy  men.  Once  a  learned  man  objected  to  the 
lack  of  fresh  air  in  Billy's  shack.  "  If  you  go  outside  the 
door  you'll  get  plenty  of  air,  and  if  you  stay  out  it  will 
be  fresher  here,"  was  Billy's  answer.  To  do  Billy  justice, 
it  is  necessary  to  say  that  he  slept  in  the  shack  himself. 
Three  shillings  a  week  secured  the  part  use  of  a  bedplace 
for  each  man,  and  the  hot-plate  was  used  in  common  by 
the  inmates  of  the  shack.  At  the  end  of  the  week  the 
three  shillings  were  deducted  from  the  men's  pay.  Mole- 
skin and  I  had  no  difficulty  in  securing  a  bed,  which  we 
*  Wages  paid  on  the  day  on  which  it  is  earned. 


CARROTY  DAN  187 

had  to  share  with  Gahey,  my  rival.  Usually  three  men 
lay  in  each  bunk,  and  sometimes  it  happened  that  four 
unwashed  dirty  humans  were  huddled  together  under  the 
one  evil-smelling,  flea-covered  blanket. 

Red  Billy's  shack  was  built  of  tarred  wooden  piles, 
shoved  endwise  into  the  earth,  and  held  together  by  iron 
cross-bars  and  wooden  couplings.  Standing  some  dis- 
tance apart  from  the  others,  it  was  neither  better  nor 
worse  than  any  of  the  rest.  I  mean  that  it  could  be  no 
worse ;  and  there  was  not  a  better  shack  in  all  the  place. 
As  it  happened  to  stand  on  a  mountain  spring  a  few 
planks  were  thrown  across  the  floor  to  prevent  the  water 
from  rising  over  the  shoe-mouths  of  the  inmates.  In  warm 
weather  the  water  did  not  come  over  the  flooring ;  in  the 
rainy  season  the  flooring  was  always  under  the  water.  A 
man  once  said  that  the  Highlands  were  the  rain-trough 
of  the  whole  world. 

The  beds  were  arranged  one  over  another  in  three  rows 
which  ran  round  the  entire  hut,  which  was  twelve  feet 
high  and  about  thirty  feet  square.  The  sanitary  authorities 
took  good  care  to  see  that  every  cow  in  the  byre  at  Braxey 
farm  had  so  many  cubic  feet  of  breathing  space,  but  there 
was  no  one  to  bother  about  the  navvies'  byres  in  Kin- 
lochleven  ;  it  was  not  worth  anybody's  while  to  bother 
about  our  manner  of  living. 

Moleskin  and  I  had  no  frying-pan,  but  Gahey  offered 
us  the  use  of  his,  until  such  time  as  we  raised  the  price 
of  one.  We  accepted  the  offer  and  forthwith  pro- 
ceeded to  cook  a  good  square  supper.  It  had  barely  taken 
us  five  minutes  to  secure  our  provisions,  but  by  the  time 
we  started  operations  on  the  hot-plate  the  gamblers  were 
busy  at  work,  playing  banker  on  a  discarded  box  in  the 
centre  of  the  building.  Gahey,  who  was  one  of  the  players, 
seemed  to  have  forgotten  all  about  the  projected  fight 
between  himself  and  me. 


188    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

"  Is  Gahey  not  going  to  fight  ?  "  I  asked  Moleskin  in 
a  whisper. 

"  My  God !  don't  you  see  that  he's  playin'  banker  ?  " 
said  Joe,  and  I  had  to  be  content  with  that  answer,  which 
was  also  an  explanation  of  the  man's  lack  of  remembrance. 
Fighting  must  be  awfully  common  and  boring  to  the  man 
when  he  forgets  one  so  easily,  I  thought.  To  me  a  fight 
was  something  which  I  looked  forward  to  for  days,  and 
which  I  thought  of  for  weeks  afterwards.  Now  I  felt  a 
trifle  afraid  of  Gahey.  I  was  of  little  account  in  his  eyes, 
and  I  concluded,  for  I  jump  quickly  to  conclusions,  that 
I  would  not  make  much  of  a  show  if  I  stood  up  against 
such  a  man,  a  man  who  looked  upon  a  fight  as  something 
hardly  worthy  of  notice.  I  decided  to  let  the  matter  drop 
and  trouble  about  it  no  further.  I  think  that  if  Gahey 
had  asked  me  to  fight  at  that  moment  I  should  have 
refused.  The  truth  was  that  I  became  frightened  of  the 
man. 

"  Can  I  have  a  hand  while  I'm  cookin'  my  grub  ?  " 
Joe  asked  the  dealer,  a  man  of  many  oaths  whose  name 
was  Maloney,  a  personage  already  enshrined  in  the  song 
written  by  Mullholland  on  the  Shootin'  of  the  Crow. 

"  The  more  the  merrier  !  "  was  the  answer,  given  in  a  tone 
of  hearty  assent.  On  hearing  these  words  Moleskin  left 
the  pan  under  my  care,  put  down  a  coin  on  the  table,  and 
with  one  eye  on  the  steak,  and  another  on  the  game,  he 
waited  for  the  turn-up  of  the  banker's  card.  During  the 
whole  meal  my  mate  devoted  the  intervals  between  bites 
to  the  placing  of  money  on  the  card  table.  Sometimes  he 
won,  sometimes  he  lost,  and  when  the  game  concluded 
with  a  free  fight  my  mate  had  lost  every  penny  of  his  sub., 
and  thirteen  pence  which  he  had  borrowed  from  me.  It  was 
hard  to  determine  how  the  quarrel  started,  but  at  the 
commencement  nearly  every  one  of  the  players  was 
involved  in  the  fight,  which  gradually  resolved  itself  into 


CARROTY  DAN  189 

an  affair  between  two  of  the  gamblers,  Blasting  Mick  and 
Ben  the  Moodier. 

Red  Billy  Davis  came  in  at  that  moment,  and  between 
two  planks,  wallowing  in  the  filth,  he  found  the  com- 
batants tearing  at  one  another  for  all  they  were  worth. 

"  Go  out  and  fight,  and  be  damned  to  yous !  "  roared  Red 
Billy,  catching  the  two  men  as  they  scrambled  to  their 
feet.  "  You  want  to  break  ev'rything  in  the  place,  you 
do  !  Curses  be  on  you  !  go  out  into  the  world  and  fight !  " 
he  cried,  taking  them  by  their  necks  and  shoving  them 
through  the  door. 

Nothing  daunted,  however,  both  continued  the  quarrel 
outside  in  the  darkness.  No  one  evinced  any  desire  to  go 
out  and  see  the  result  of  the  fight,  but  I  was  on  the  tip-toe 
of  suspense  waiting  for  the  finish  of  the  encounter.  I 
could  hear  the  combatants  panting  and  slipping  outside, 
but  thinking  that  the  inmates  of  the  shack  would  con- 
sider me  a  greenhorn  if  I  went  to  look  at  the  fight  I  remained 
inside.  I  resolved  to  follow  Moleskin's  guidance  for  at 
least  a  little  while  longer ;  I  lacked  the  confidence  to  work 
on  my  own  initiative. 

"  Clean  broke  !  "  said  Moleskin,  alluding  to  his  own  pre- 
dicament, as  he  sat  down  by  the  fire,  and  asked  the  man 
next  to  him  for  a  chew  of  tobacco.  "  Money  is  made  round 
to  go  round,  anyway,"  he  went  on  ;  "  and  there  is  some  as 
say  that  it  is  made  flat  to  build  upon,  but  that's  damned 
rot.  Doesn't  ev'ryone  here  agree  with  that  ?  " 

"  Ev'ryone,"  was  the  hearty  response. 

"  Why  the  devil  do  all  of  you  agree  ?  "  Joe  looked  savagely 
exasperated.  "  Has  no  man  here  an  opinion  of  his  own  ? 
You,  Tom  Slavin,  used  to  save  your  pay  when  you  did 
graft  at  Toward  Waterworks,  and  what  did  you  do  with 
your  money  ?  " 

Tom  Slavin  was  a  youngish  fellow,  and  Joe's  enquiry 
caused  him  to  look  redder  than  the  hot-plate. 


igo    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

"  He  bought  penny  ribbons  and  brass  bracelets  for 
Ganger  Farley's  daughter,"  put  in  Red  Billy,  who  had 
quickly  regained  his  good  humour ;  "  but  in  the  end  the 
jade  went  and  married  a  carpenter  from  Glasgow." 

Red  Billy  chuckled  in  his  beard.  He  was  twice  a  widower, 
grass  and  clay,  and  he  was  a  very  cynical  old  man.  I  did 
not  take  much  heed  to  the  conversation  ;  I  was  listening 
to  the  scuffle  outside. 

"  What  did  I  always  say  about  women  !  "  said  Moleskin, 
launching  into  the  subject  of  the  fair  sex.  "  Once  get  into 
the  hands  of  a  woman  and  she'll  drive  you  to  hell  and  leave 
you  with  the  devil  when  she  gets  you  there.  How  many 
fools  can  a  woman  put  through  her  hands  ?  Eh  !  How 
much  water  can  run  through  a  sieve  ?  No  matter  how  many 
lovers  a  woman  has,  she  has  always  room  for  one  more.  It's 
a  well-filled  barn  that  doesn't  give  room  for  the  threshin' 
of  one  extra  sheaf.  Comin'  back  to  that  sliver  of  a  Slavin's 
wenchin',  who  is  the  worst  off  now,  the  carpenter  or  Tom  ? 
I'll  go  bail  that  one  is  jealous  of  the  other ;  that  one's 
damned  because  he  did  and  the  other's  damned  because 
he  didn't." 

"  There's  a  sort  of  woman,  Gourock  Ellen  they  call  her," 
interrupted  Red  Billy  with  a  chuckle,  "  and  she  nearly 
led  you  to  hell  in  Glasgow  three  years  ago,  Mister 
Moleskin." 

"  And  what  about  the  old  heifer  you  made  love  to  in 
Clydebank,  Moleskin  ?  "  asked  James  Clancy,  a  man 
with  a  broken  nose  and  great  fame  as  a  singer,  who  had  not 
spoken  before. 

"  Oh  !  that  Glasgow  woman,"  said  Moleskin,  taking  no 
heed  of  the  second  question.  "  I  didn't  think  very  much 
of  her." 

"  What  was  wrong  with  her  ?  "  asked  Billy. 

"  She  was  a  woman  ;  isn't  that  enough  ?  " 

"  It  was  a  different  story  on  the  night  when  you  and 


CARROTY  DAN  191 

Ginger  Simpson  fought  about  her  in  the  Saltmarket,"  cut 
in  some  individual  who  was  sitting  in  the  bed  sewing  patches 
on  his  trousers. 

"I've  fought  my  man  and  knocked  him  out  many  a  time, 
when  there  wasn't  a  wench  within  ten  miles  of  me,"  cried 
Moleskin.  "  Doesn't  ev'ryone  here  believe  that  ?  " 

"  But  that  woman  in  Clydebank  !  "  persisted  Clancy. 

"  Have  you  seen  Ginger  Simpson  of  late  ?  "  said  Moleskin, 
making  an  effort  to  change  the  subject,  for  he  observed  that 
he  was  cornered.  It  was  evident  that  some  of  the  inmates 
of  the  shack  had  learned  facts  relating  to  his  career,  which 
Moleskin  would  have  preferred  to  remain  unknown. 

"  Last  winter  I  met  him  in  Greenock,"  said  Sandy  Mac- 
donald,  a  man  with  a  wasting  disease,  who  lay  in  a  corner 
bunk  at  the  end  of  the  shack.  "  He  told  me  all  about  the 
fight  in  the  Saltmarket,  and  that  Gourock  Ellen " 

"  But  the  Clydebank  woman " 

"  Listen  !  "  said  Joe,  interrupting  Clancy's  remark. 
"  They're  at  it  outside  yet.  It  must  be  a  hell  of  a  fight 
between  the  two  of  them." 

He  referred  to  Blasting  Mick  and  Ben  the  Moocher, 
who  were  still  busily  engaged  in  thrashing  one  another 
outside,  and  in  the  silence  that  followed  Joe's  remark 
I  could  hear  distinctly  the  thud  of  many  blows  given  and 
taken  by  the  two  combatants  in  the  darkness. 

"  Let  them  fight ;  that's  nothin'  to  us,"  said  Red  Billy, 
taking  a  bite  from  the  end  of  his  plug.  "  But  for  my 
own  part  I  would  like  to  know  where  Gourock  Ellen  is 
now." 

Joe  made  no  answer ;  he  was  visibly  annoyed,  and  I 
saw  his  fists  closing  tightly. 

"  Do  you  mind  the  Clydebank  woman,  Moleskin  ?  " 
asked  Clancy,  making  a  final  effort  in  his  enquiries.  "  She 
was  fond  of  her  pint,  and  had  a  horrid  squint." 

"I'll  squint  you,  by  God !  "  roared  Moleskin,  reaching 


192    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

out  and  gripping  Clancy  by  the  scruff  of  the  neck.  "  If 
I  hear  you  talkin'  about  Clydebank  again,  I'll  thicken  your 
ear  for  you,  seein'  that  I  cannot  break  your  nose  !  And  you, 
you  red-bearded  sprat,  you  !  "  this  to  Red  Billy  Davis  ; 
"  if  you  mention  Gourock  Ellen  again,  I'll  leave  your  eyes 
in  such  a  state  that  you'll  not  be  fit  to  see  one  of  your  own 
gang  for  six  months  to  come." 

Just  at  that  moment  the  two  fighters  came  in,  and 
attracted  the  whole  attention  of  the  party  inside  by  their 
appearance.  They  looked  worn  and  dishevelled,  their 
clothes  were  torn  to  ribbons,  their  cheeks  were  covered 
with  clay  and  blood,  and  their  hair  and  beards  looked  like 
mops  which  had  been  used  in  sweeping  the  bottom  of  a 
midden.  One  good  result  of  the  two  men's  timely  entrance 
was  that  the  rest  of  the  party  forgot  their  own  particular 
grievances. 

"  Quite  pleased  with  yoursels  now  ?  "  asked  Red  Billy 
Davis,  but  the  combatants  did  not  answer.  They  sat 
down,  took  off  their  boots,  scraped  the  clay  from  their 
wounds,  and  turned  into  bed. 

"  Moleskin,  do  you  know  Gourock  Ellen  ?  "  I  asked  my 
mate  when  later  I  found  him  sitting  alone  in  a  quiet 
corner. 

Moleskin  glared  at  me  furiously.  "  By  this  and  by  that, 
Flynn  !  if  you  talk  to  me  about  Gourock  Ellen  again  I'll 
scalp  you,"  he  answered. 

For  a  moment  I  felt  a  trifle  angry,  but  having  sense 
enough  to  see  that  Moleskin  was  sore  cut  with  the  outcome 
of  the  argument,  and  knowing  that  he  was  the  only  friend 
whom  I  had  in  all  Kinlochleven  I  kept  silent,  stifling  the 
words  of  anger  that  had  risen  to  my  tongue.  By  humour- 
ing one  another's  moods  we  have  become  inseparable 
friends. 

One  by  one  the  men  turned  into  bed.  Maloney  having 
collared  all  the  day's  sub.  there  was  no  more  gambling  that 


CARROTY  DAN  193 

night.  Joe  sat  for  a  while  bare  naked,  getting  a  belly  heat 
at  the  fire,  as  he  himself  expressed  it,  before  he  turned  into 
bed. 

"  Where  have  you  left  your  duds,  Flynn  ?  "  he  asked, 
as  he  rose  to  his  feet  and  extinguished  the  naphtha  lamp 
which  hung  from  the  roof  by  a  piece  of  wire.  I  was 
already  under  the  blankets,  glad  of  their  warmth,  meagre 
though  it  was,  after  so  many  long  chilly  nights  on  the 
road. 

"  They  are  under  my  pillow,"  I  answered. 

"  And  your  bluchers  ?  " 

"  On  the  floor." 

"  Put  them  under  your  pillow  too,  or  maybe  you'll  be 
without  them  in  the  mornin'." 

Acting  upon  Joe's  advice,  I  jumped  out  of  bed,  groped  in 
the  darkness,  found  my  boots  and  placed  them  under  my 
pillow.  Presently,  wedged  in  between  the  naked  bodies 
of  Moleskin  Joe  and  Hell-fire  Gahey,  I  endeavoured  to  test 
the  strength  of  the  latter's  arms  by  pressing  them  with  my 
fingers.  The  man  was  asleep,  if  snoring  was  to  be  taken 
as  a  sign,  and  presently  I  was  running  my  hand  over  his 
body,  testing  the  muscles  of  his  arms,  shoulders,  and  chest. 
He  was  covered  with  hair,  more  like  a  brute  than  a  human ; 
long,  curling,  matted  hair,  that  was  rough  as  fine  wire  when 
the  hand  came  in  contact  with  it.  The  rubber-like  pliability 
of  the  man's  long  arms  impressed  me,  and  assured  me  that  he 
would  be  a  quick  hitter  when  he  started  fighting.  Added 
to  that  he  had  a  great  fame  as  a  fighting  man  in  Kinloch- 
leven.  He  was  a  loud  snorer  too ;  I  have  never  met  a  man 
who  could  snore  like  Gahey,  and  snoring  is  one  of  the  vices 
which  I  detest.  Being  very  tired  after  the  long  homeless 
tramp  from  Greenock,  I  fell  asleep  by-and-bye ;  but  I 
did  not  sleep  for  long.  The  angry  voice  of  Joe  awakened 
me,  and  I  heard  him  expostulate  with  Hell-fire  on  the 
unequal  distribution  of  the  blankets. 


194    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

"  You  hell-forsaken  Irish  blanket-grabber,  you  !  "  Joe 
was  roaring  ;  "  you've  got  all  the  clothes  in  the  bed  wrapped 
round  your  dirty  hide." 

"  Ye're  a  hell-fire  liar,  and  that's  what  ye  are  !  "  snorted 
Gahey.  "It's  yerself  that  has  got  all  the  beddin'." 

Joe  replied  with  an  oath  and  a  vigorous  tug  at  the 
blankets.  In  turn  my  other  bedmate  pulled  them  back, 
and  for  nearly  five  minutes  both  men  engaged  in  a  mad 
tug-of-war.  Hell-fire  got  the  best  of  it  in  the  end,  for 
he  placed  his  back  against  the  wall  of  the  shack,  planted 
his  feet  in  my  side,  and  pulled  as  hard  as  he  was  able  until 
he  regained  complete  possession  of  the  disputed  clothing. 
Just  then  Moleskin's  hand  passed  over  my  head  with  a 
mighty  swish  in  the  direction  of  Gahey.  I  turned  rapidly 
round  and  lay  face  downwards  on  the  pillow  in  order  to 
avoid  the  blows  of  the  two  men  as  they  fought  across  my 
naked  body.  And  they  did  fight !  The  dull  thud  of  fist 
on  flesh,  the  grunts  and  pants  of  the  men,  the  creaking  of 
the  joints  as  their  arms  were  thrown  outwards,  the  jerky 
spring  of  the  wooden  bunk-stanchions  as  they  shook  be- 
neath the  straining  bodies,  and  the  numberless  blows  which 
landed  on  me  in  the  darkness  makes  the  memory  of  the  first 
night  in  Kinlochleven  for  ever  green  in  my  mind. 

Rising  suddenly  to  his  feet  Gahey  stood  over  me  in  a 
crouching  position  with  both  his  heels  planted  in  the  small 
of  my  back.  The  pain  was  almost  unendurable,  and  I  got 
angry.  It  was  almost  impossible  to  move,  but  by  a  supreme 
effort  I  managed  to  wriggle  round  and  throw  Gahey  head- 
foremost into  Moleskin's  arms,  whereupon  the  two  fighters 
slithered  out  of  bed,  leaving  the  blankets  to  me,  and  con- 
tinued their  struggle  on  the  floor. 

Somewhere  in  the  middle  of  the  shack  I  could  hear  Red 
Billy  swearing  as  he  endeavoured  to  light  a  match  on  the 
upper  surface  of  the  hot-plate. 

"  My  blessed  blankets  !  "   he  was  lamenting.    "  You 


CARROTY   DAN  195 

damned  scoundrels  !  you'll  not  leave  one  in  the  hut. 
Fighting  in  bed  just  the  same  as  if  you  were  lyin'  in  a  pig- 
sty. What  the  devil  was  I  thinkin'  of  when  I  took  on 
that  pig  of  a  Moleskin  Joe  ?  " 

Billy  ceased  thinking  just  then,  for  a  wild  swing  of 
Moleskin's  heavy  fist  missed  Gahey  and  caught  the  ganger 
under  the  ear.  The  whiskered  one  dropped  with  a  groan 
amid  the  floor-planks  and  lay,  kicking,  shouting  mean- 
while that  Moleskin  had  murdered  him.  Someone  lit 
a  match,  and  my  bedmates  ceased  fighting  and  seemed 
little  the  worse  for  their  adventure.  Billy's  face  looked 
ghastly,  and  a  red  streak  ran  from  his  nose  into  the  puddle 
in  which  he  lay.  He  had  now  stopped  speaking  and  was 
fearfully  quiet.  I  jumped  out  of  bed,  shaking  in  every 
limb,  for  I  thought  that  the  old  ganger  was  killed. 

"  A  tin  of  water  thrown  in  his  face  will  bring  him  round," 
I  said,  but  feared  at  the  same  time  that  it  would  not. 

"  Or  a  bucketful,"  someone  suggested. 

"  Stab  a  pin  under  the  quick  of  his  nail." 

"  Burn  a  feather  under  his  nose." 

"  Give  him  a  dig  in  the  back." 

"  Or  a  prod  in  the  ribs." 

The  match  had  gone  out,  no  one  could  find  another, 
and  the  voices  of  advice  came  from  the  darkness  in  all  the 
corners  of  the  room.  Even  old  Sandy  MacDonald,  who 
could  find  no  cure  for  his  own  complaint,  the  wasting 
disease,  was  offering  endless  advice  on  the  means  of  curing 
Red  Billy  Davis. 

A  match  was  again  found ;  the  lamp  was  lit,  and  after 
much  rough  doctoring  on  the  part  of  his  gang,  the  ganger 
recovered  and  swore  himself  to  sleep.  Joe  and  Gahey  came 
back  together  and  stood  by  the  bed. 

"  It's  myself  that  has  the  hard  knuckles,  Moleskin," 
said  Gahey.  "  And  they're  never  loth  to  come  in  contact 
with  flesh  that's  not  belongin'  to  the  man  who  owns  them." 


ig6    CHILDREN   OF  THE  DEAD  END 

"  There's  a  plot  of  ground  here,  and  it's  called  the '  Ring,'  " 
said  Moleskin.  "  About  seven  o'clock  the  morrow  evenin', 
I'll  be  out  that  way  for  a^stroll.  Many  a  man  has  broke  a 
hard  knuckle  against  my  jaw,  and  if  you  just  meet  me  in 
the  Ring " 

"I'll  take  a  bit  of  a  dander  round  there,  Joe,"  said  Hell- 
fire,  and  filled  with  ineffable  content  both  men  slipped  into 
their  bed,  and  fell  asleep.  As  for  myself,  the  dawn  was 
coming  through  a  chink  in  the  shack  when  my  eyes  closed 
in  slumber. 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

A  GREAT  FIGHT 

"  When  rugged  rungs  stand  up  to  fight,  stark  naked  to  the  buff, 
Each  taken  blow  but  gives  them  zest,  they  cannot  have  enough. 
For  they  are  out  to  see  red  blood,  to  curse  and  club  and  clout, 
And  few  men  know  and  no  one  cares  what  brings  the  fuss  about." 

— From  Hard  Knuckles. 

ABOUT  fifty  yards  distant  from  Red  Billy's  hut 
a  circle  of  shacks  enclosed  a  level  piece  of  ground, 
and  this  was  used  as  a  dumping  place  for  empty 
sardine  cans,  waste  tins,  scrap  iron,  and  broken  bottles. 
This  was  also  the  favourite  spot  where  all  manner  of 
quarrels  were  settled  with  the  fists.  It  had  been  christened 
the  Ring,  and  in  those  days  many  a  heavy  jowl  was  broken 
there  and  many  a  man  was  carried  out  of  the  enclosure 
seeing  all  kinds  of  dancing  lights  in  front  of  his  eyes.  It 
was  to  this  spot  that  Moleskin  and  Gahey  came  to  settle 
their  dispute  on  the  evening  of  the  second  day,  and  I  came 
with  them,  Joe  having  appointed  me  as  his  second,  whose 
main  duty  would  consist  in  looking  on  and  giving  a  word 
of  approval  to  my  principal  now  and  again.  When  we 
arrived  two  fights  were  already  in  progress,  and  my  mates 
had  to  wait  until  one  of  these  was  brought  to  a  satisfactory 
conclusion.  Some  men  who  had  come  out  through 
sympathy  with  the  combatants  were  seated  on  the  ground 
in  one  corner,  and  had  transferred  their  interest  from  the 
quarrels  to  a  game  of  banker  or  brag.  Moleskin  and  Gahey 
evinced  not  the  slightest  interest  in  the  two  fights  that  were 
taking  place  ;  but  grumbled  a  little  because  they  had  to 


ig8    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

wait  their  turn  so  long.  For  myself,  I  could  hardly  under- 
stand my  mate's  indifference  to  other  people's  quarrels. 
At  that  time,  as  a  true  Irishman,  I  could  have  spent  all 
day  long  looking  at  fights.  These  men  looked  upon  a 
fight  as  they  looked  upon  a  shift.  "  Hurry  up  and  get  it 
done,  and  when  it  is  done  trouble  no  more  about  it." 
Another  man's  shift  or  another  man's  fight  was  not  their 
business. 

I  could  not  take  my  eyes  away  from  the  struggles  which 
were  going  on  already.  A  big  Irishman,  slow  of  foot, 
strong  and  heavy-going,  was  engaged  in  an  encounter 
with  a  little  Pole,  who  handled  his  fists  scientifically,  and 
who  had  battered  his  opponent's  face  to  an  ugly  purple  by 
the  time  we  arrived.  However,  in  the  end  the  Irishman 
won.  He  lifted  his  opponent  bodily,  and  threw  him,  naked 
shoulders  and  all,  into  the  middle  of  a  heap  of  broken 
bottles  and  scraggy  tins.  The  Pole  would  fight  no  more. 
His  mates  pulled  the  edged  scraps  of  tin  out  of  his  flesh, 
while  his  victor  challenged  all  Poles  (there  were  a  fair 
sprinkling  of  them  at  Kinlochleven)  who  were  yet  on  the 
safe  side  of  hell  to  deadly  battle. 

The  second  fight  was  more  vindictive.  A  Glasgow 
craneman  had  fallen  foul  of  an  English  muck-filler,  and  the 
struggle  had  already  lasted  for  the  best  part  of  an  hour. 
Both  men  were  stripped  to  the  buff,  and  red  splotches 
of  blood  and  dirt  covered  their  steaming  bodies.  The 
craneman  thought  that  he  had  finished  matters  conclu- 
sively when  he  gave  his  opponent  the  knee  in  the  stomach, 
and  knocked  him  stiff  to  the  ground.  Just  as  he  was  on  the 
point  of  leaving  the  ring  the  Englishman  suddenly  recovered, 
rose  to  his  knees  and,  grabbing  his  adversary  by  the  legs, 
inserted  his  teeth  in  the  thick  of  the  victor's  right  calf. 
No  hing  daunted,  however,  the  craneman  bent  down  and 
tightened  his  thumbs  under  his  enemy's  ear,  and  pressed 
strongly  until  the  latter  let  go  his  hold. 


A  GREAT  FIGHT  199 

"  Our  turn  now,"  said  Moleskin  affably,  as  he  stripped  to 
the  waist  and  fastened  his  gallowses  around  his  waist. 
"  It'll  give  me  much  pleasure  to  blacken  your  eyes,  Gahey." 

Joe  was  a  fine  figure  when  stripped.  His  flesh  was  pure 
white  below  the  brown  of  his  neck,  and  the  long  muscles 
of  his  arms  stood  out  in  clearly  defined  ridges.  When  he 
stretched  his  arms  his  well-developed  biceps  rose  and  fell 
in  graceful  unison  with  every  movement  of  his  perfectly- 
shaped  chest.  When  on  the  roads,  dressed  in  every  curious 
garment  which  he  could  beg,  borrow,  or  thieve,  Joe  looked 
singularly  unprepossessing ;  but  here,  naturally  garbed, 
and  standing  amidst  the  nakedness  of  nature,  he  looked  like 
some  magnificent  piece  of  sculpture,  gifted  with  life  and 
fresh  from  the  hands  of  the  genius  who  fashioned  it. 

Gahey  was  of  different  build  altogether.  The  profusion 
of  hair  that  covered  his  body  resolved  itself  into  a  mane 
almost  in  the  hollow  of  the  breast  bone.  His  flesh  was 
shrivelled  and  dried  ;  his  limbs  looked  like  raw  pig-iron, 
which  had  in  some  strange  manner  been  transformed  into 
the  semblance  of  a  human  being. 

"  Hell-fire  and  Moleskin  Joe,"  I  heard  the  gamblers  say 
as  they  threw  down  their  cards  and  scraped  the  money 
from  the  ground.  "  This  will  be  a  good  set-to.  Moleskin 
can  handle  his  mits,  and  by  this  and  that,  Hell-fire  is  no 
slow  one  !  " 

Joe  stepped  into  the  ring,  hitched  up  his  trousers  and 
waited.  Gahey  followed,  stood  for  a  moment,  then  swung 
out  for  his  enemy's  head,  only  to  find  his  blow  intercepted 
by  an  upward  sweep  of  the  arm  of  Moleskin,  who  followed 
up  his  movement  of  defence  by  a  right  feint  for  the  body 
of  Gahey,  and  a  straight  left  that  went  home  from  the 
shoulder.  Gahey  replied  with  a  heavy  smash  to  the  ribs, 
and  Joe  looked  at  him  with  a  smile. 

"  See  and  don't  hurt  your  knuckles  on  my  ribs,  Gahey,'* 
he  said. 


200    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

"  I  was  only  feelin'  if  yer  heart  was  beatin'  just  a  trifle 
faster  than  the  usual,"  replied  Gahey. 

Both  men  smiled,  but  the  smile  was  a  mask,  behind  which, 
clear-headed  and  cool-eyed,  each  of  them  looked  for  an  open- 
ing and  an  opportunity  to  drive  home  a  blow.  To  each 
belonged  the  wisdom  bred  of  many  weary,  aching  fights 
and  desperate  gruellings.  Gahey  was  by  far  the  quicker 
man  ;  his  long  brown  arms  shot  out  like  whiplashes,  and 
his  footwork  was  very  clever.  He  was  a  man,  untrained 
in  the  art,  but  a  natural  fighter.  His  missing  thumb 
seemed  to  place  him  at  no  disadvantage.  Joe  was  slower 
but  by  far  the  stronger  man.  He  never  lost  his  head,  and 
his  blows  had  the  impact  of  a  knotted  club.  When  he 
landed  on  the  flesh  of  the  body,  every  knuckle  left  its  own 
particular  mark  ;  when  he  landed  on  the  face,  there  was  a 
general  disfigurement. 

Gahey  broke  through  the  mask  of  his  smile,  and  struck 
out  with  his  right.  In  his  eyes  the  purpose  betrayed  itself, 
and  his  opponent,  forewarned,  caught  the  blow  on  his  arm. 
Hell-fire  darted  in  with  the  left  and  took  Joe  on  the  stomach. 
The  impact  was  sharp  and  sudden  ;  my  mate  winced  a 
trifle  slightly,  but  the  next  moment  he  forced  a  smile  into 
his  face. 

"  You're  savin'  your  knuckles,  matey,"  he  said  to  Gahey. 
"  There's  no  danger  of  you  breakin'  them  on  the  soft  of  my 
belly." 

"  Well,  I'll  test  them  here,"  Gahey  retorted,  and  came 
in  with  a  resounding  smack  to  Moleskin's  jaw.  Joe 
received  the  blow  stolidly,  and  swung  a  right  for  Gahey, 
but,  missing  his  man,  he  fell  to  the  ground. 

"  See !  see !  "  everyone  around  the  ring  shouted. 
"  Who'd  have  thought  that  a  light  rung  of  a  fellow  like 
Gahey  would  have  beat  Moleskin  Joe  ?  " 

"  Wait  till  he's  beaten  !  "  I  shouted  back  angrily.  "  I'll 
have  something  to  say  to  some  of  you  idiots." 


A  GREAT  FIGHT  201 

"  Good,  Flynn !  "  said  Moleskin,  rising  to  his  feet. 
"  Just  put  in  a  word  on  my  behalf  with  them  lubberly 
coopers.  I'll  see  to  them  myself  in  a  minute  or  two,  when 
I  get  this  wee  job  off  my  hands." 

So  saying,  my  mate  made  for  Gahey,  who  was  afraid 
to  come  into  contact  with  Joe  when  he  was  on  the  ground. 
The  men  fought  to  win,  and  the  fight  had  no  rules.  All  was 
fair,  clinching,  clutching,  scraping,  kicking,  sarcasm,  and 
repartee.  Joe  followed  Gahey  up,  coming  nearer  every 
moment  and  eager  to  get  into  grips.  When  that  would 
happen,  Gahey  was  lost ;  but  being  wary,  he  avoided 
Moleskin's  clutches,  and  kept  hopping  around,  aiming  in  at 
intervals  one  of  his  lightning  blows,  and  raising  a  red  mark 
on  Moleskin's  white  body  whenever  he  struck.  Joe  kept 
walking  after  his  man  ;  nothing  deterred  him,  he  would 
keep  at  it  until  he  achieved  his  purpose.  The  other  man's 
hope  lay  in  knocking  Moleskin  unconscious  ;  but  even  that 
would  ensure  victory  only  for  the  moment.  Joe  once 
fought  a  man  twenty-six  times,  and  got  knocked  out  every 
time.  In  the  twenty-seventh  fight,  Joe  knocked  out  his 
opponent.  Joe  did  not  know  when  he  was  beaten,  and  thus 
he  was  never  defeated. 

Now  he  kept  walking  stolidly  round  and  round  the  ring 
after  Gahey.  Sometimes  he  struck  out ;  nearly  always  he 
missed,  and  seldom  was  he  quick  enough  to  avoid  the 
lightning  blows  of  his  enemy.  Even  yet  he  was  smiling, 
although  the  smile  had  long  gone  from  the  face  of  Gahey, 
who  was  still  angry  and  wanting  to  inflict  punishment. 
He  inflicted  punishment,  but  it  seemed  to  have  no 
effect ;  apparently  unperturbed,  Joe  took  it  all  without 
wincing. 

The  crowd  watched  Gahey  wistfully ;  now  they  knew 
instinctively  that  he  was  going  to  get  beaten.  Joe  was 
implacable,  resistless.  He  was  walking  towards  an  appointed 
goal  steadily  and  surely  ;  his  pace  was  merciless,  and  it  was 


202    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

slow,  but  in  the  end  it  would  tell.  For  myself,  I  doubted 
if  Joe  could  be  successful.  He  was  streaming  with  blood, 
one  eyebrow  was  hanging,  and  the  flesh  of  the  breast  was 
red  and  raw.  Gahey  was  almost  without  a  scratch  ;  if  he 
finished  the  fight  at  that  moment,  he  would  leave  the  ring 
nearly  as  fresh  as  when  he  came  into  it.  Joe  still  smiled, 
but  the  smile  looked  ghastly,  when  seen  through  the 
blood.  Now  and  again  he  passed  a  joke. 

The  look  of  fear  came  into  Gahey's  eyes  suddenly.  It 
came  to  him  when  he  realised  that  he  would  be  beaten  if 
he  did  not  knock  Joe  out  very  soon.  Then  he  endeavoured 
at  every  opportunity  to  strike  fully  and  heavily,  trying  to 
land  on  the  point,  but  this  Joe  kept  jealously  guarded. 
Gahey  began  to  lose  confidence  in  himself ;  once  or  twice 
he  blundered  and  almost  fell  into  Joe's  arms,  but  saved 
himself  by  an  effort. 

"  I'll  get  you  yet,  my  Irish  blanket-grabber  !  "  Joe  said 
each  time. 

"  Get  him  now  and  put  an  end  to  the  fight,"  I  cried  to 
Moleskin.  "  It's  not  worth  your  while  to  spend  so  much 
time  over  a  little  job." 

Joe  took  my  advice  and  rushed.  Gahey  struck  out,  but 
Joe  imprisoned  the  striking  arm,  and  drawing  it  towards 
him,  he  gripped  hold  of  Gahey's  body.  Then,  without  any 
perceptible  effort,  he  lifted  Gahey  over  his  head  and  held 
him  there  at  arm's  length  for  a  few  minutes.  Afterwards 
he  took  him  down  as  far  as  his  chest. 

"  For  God's  sake  don't  throw  me  into  the  tins,  Moleskin," 
cried  Gahey. 

"  I  don't  want  to  dirty  the  tins,"  answered  Joe.  "  Now 
I  want  to  ask  you  a  question.  Who  was  right  about  the 
blankets  last  night  ?  " 

Gahey  gave  no  answer.  Joe  threw  him  on  the  ground, 
went  on  top  of  him,  and  began  knuckling  his  knees  along 
Gahey's  ribs. 


A  GREAT  FIGHT  203 

"  Who  was  right  about  the  blankets  last  night  ?  "  asked 
Moleskin  again. 

"  You  were,"  said  Gahey  sulkily.  Joe  smiled  and  rose 
to  his  feet. 

"  That's  a  wee  job  finished,"  he  said  to  me.  "  You 
could  knock  Gahey  out,  yourself,  Flynn." 

"  Could  ye,  bedamned  !  "  roared  Gahey,  dancing  around 
me  and  making  strange  passes  with  his  fist. 

"  Go  on,  Flynn,  give  it  to  him  same  as  you  did  with 
Carroty  in  Greenock ! "  shouted  Joe  as  he  struggled  with 
the  shirt  which  he  was  pulling  over  his  head.  Gahey's  lip 
was  swollen,  his  left  ear  had  been  thickened,  but  other- 
wise he  had  not  received  a  scratch  in  the  fight  with 
Moleskin,  and  he  was  now  undoubtedly  eager  to  try  con- 
clusions with  me.  As  I  have  said,  I  was  never  averse  to 
a  stand-up  fight,  and  though  the  exhibition  which  Hell- 
fire  made  against  Joe  filled  me  with  profound  respect  for 
the  man,  I  looked  at  him  squarely  between  the  eyes  for  a 
moment,  and  then  with  a  few  seasonable  oaths  I  stripped 
to  the  waist,  my  blood  rushing  through  my  veins  at  the 
thought  of  the  coming  battle. 

I  am  not  much  to  look  at  physically,  but  am  strong- 
boned,  though  lacking  muscle  and  flesh.  I  can  stand  any 
amount  of  rough  treatment ;  and  in  after  days  men,  who 
knew  something  about  the  art  of  boxing,  averred  that  I  was 
gifted  with  a  good  punch.  Though  very  strong,  my  bearing 
is  deceptive  ;  new  mates  are  always  disinclined  to  believe 
that  my  strength  is  out  of  keeping  with  my  appearance, 
until  by  practical  demonstration  they  are  taught  otherwise. 
While  slender  of  arm  my  chest  measurement  is  very  good, 
being  over  forty-three  inches,  and  height  five  feet  eleven. 
In  movement  inclined  to  be  slow,  yet  when  engaged  in  a 
sight  I  have  an  uncommonly  quick  eye  for  detail,  and  can 
preserve  a  good  sound  striking  judgment  even  when  getting 
the  worst  of  the  encounter,  and  never  yet  have  I  given  in 


204    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

to  my  man  until  he  knocked  me  unconscious  to  the 
ground. 

Gahey  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  enclosure,  and  waited 
for  me  with  an  air  of  serene  composure,  and  carried  the 
self-confident  look  of  a  man  who  is  going  to  win. 

Despite  the  ease  with  which  Moleskin  had  settled  Gahey 
a  few  minutes  previously,  I  felt  a  bit  nervous  when  I  took 
my  way  into  the  open  and  glanced  at  the  circle  of  dirty, 
animated  faces  that  glared  at  me  from  all  corners  of  the 
ring.  Gahey  did  not  seem  a  bit  afraid,  and  he  laughed 
in  my  face  when  I  raised  my  hands  gingerly  in  assuming 
an  attitude  of  defence.  I  did  not  feel  angry  with  the  man. 
I  was  going  to  fight  in  a  cold-blooded  manner  without 
reason  or  excuse.  In  every  previous  fight  I  had  something 
to  annoy  me  before  starting  ;  I  saw  red  before  a  blow  was 
given  or  taken.  But  now  I  had  no  grievance  against  the 
man  and  he  had  none  against  me.  We  wanted  to  fight 
one  another — that  was  all. 

Gahey,  though  apparently  confident  of  victory,  was 
taking  no  chances.  He  swung  his  right  for  my  head  in  the 
first  onslaught,  and  I  went  slap  to  the  ground  like  a  falling 
log. 

"  Oh,  Flynn  !  "  cried  Joe  in  an  agonised  voice  ;  and  I 
thought  that  his  words  were  whispered  in  my  ear  where  I 
lay.  Up  to  my  feet  I  jumped,  and  with  head  lowered 
down  and  wedged  between  my  shoulder  joints,  I  lunged 
forward  at  Gahey,  only  to  recoil  from  an  upward  sweep 
of  his  fist,  which  sent  all  sorts  of  dancing  lights  into  my 
eyes.  My  mouth  filled  with  blood  and  a  red  madness  of 
anger  came  over  me.  I  was  conscious  no  more  of  pain, 
or  of  the  reason  for  the  fight.  All  that  I  now  wanted  was 
to  overcome  the  man  who  stood  in  front  of  me.  I  heard 
my  opponent  laugh,  but  I  could  not  see  him  ;  he  struck 
out  at  me  again  and  I  stumbled  once  more  to  the 
ground. 


A  GREAT  FIGHT  205 

"  Flynn  !  Dermod  Flynn  !  "  shouted  Joe,  and  there 
was  a  world  of  reproach  in  his  voice. 

Again  I  stood  up,  and  the  blindness  had  gone  from  my 
eyes.  My  abdomen  heaved  frankly,  and  I  gulped  down 
mighty  mouthfuls  of  air.  Gahey  stood  before  me  laughing 
easily.  My  whole  mind  was  centred  on  the  next  move  of 
the  contest ;  but  in  some  subconscious  way  I  took  in  every 
detail  of  the  surroundings.  The  gamblers  stood  about  in 
clusters,  and  one  of  them  carried  the  pack  of  cards  in  his 
hand,  the  front  of  it  facing  me,  and  I  could  see  the  seven 
of  clubs  on  top  of  the  pack.  Joe  was  looking  tensely  at 
me,  his  lips  wide  apart  and  his  tobacco-stained  teeth  showing 
between.  Behind  him,  and  a  little  distance  off,  the  rest 
of  the  crowd,  shouldered  together,  stood  watching ;  and 
behind  and  above  the  circle  of  dirty  faces  the  ring  of  cabins 
spread  outwards  under  the  shadow  of  the  hair-poised 
derricks  and  firmly-set  hills. 

A  vicious  jab  from  Gahey  slipped  along  the  arm  with 
which  I  parried  it.  I  hit  with  my  left,  and  the  soft  of  my 
enemy's  throat  jellied  inwards  under  the  stroke.  I 
followed  up  with  two  blows  to  the  chest  and  one  to  the  face. 
A  stream  of  blood  squirted  from  Gahey 's  jowl  as  my  fist 
took  it ;  and  this  filled  me  with  new  hopes  of  victory. 
Joe  had  drawn  very  little  blood  from  the  man,  but  then, 
though  faster  than  my  mate  on  my  feet,  I  was  not  gifted 
with  his  staying  power. 

Behind  me  Moleskin  clapped  his  hands  excitedly,  and 
urged  me  afresh  with  hearty  words  of  cheer. 

"  Burst  him  up  !  "  he  yelled, 

"  Sure,"  I  answered.  My  anger  had  subsided,  and  a 
feeling  of  confidence  had  taken  its  place. 

"  Will  ye,  be  God  !  "•  cried  Gahey,  and  he  rushed  at  me 
like  a  mad  wind;  landing  his  brown  hard  fists  repeatedly 
on  my  face  and  chest,  and  receiving  no  chastisement  in 
return. 


206    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

"  I'll  burst  yer  ear  !  "  he  cried,  and  did  so,  smashing  the 
lobe  with  one  of  his  lightning  blows.  The  blood  from  the 
wound  fell  on  my  shoulders  for  the  rest  of  the  fight.  Another 
blow,  a  light  one  on  the  stomach,  sickened  me  slightly,  and 
my  confidence  began  to  ooze  away  from  me.  It  went 
completely  when  I  endeavoured  to  trip  my  opponent,  and 
got  tripped  myself  instead.  My  head  took  the  ground, 
and  I  felt  a  little  groggy  when  I  regained  my  feet ;  but  in 
rising  I  got  in  a  sharp  jab  to  Gahey's  nose  and  drew  blood 
again. 

The  battle  sobered  down  a  little.  Both  of  us  circled 
around,  looking  for  an  opening.  Suddenly  I  drove  forward 
with  my  right,  passed  Gahey's  guard,  and  with  a  well- 
directed  blow  on  the  chest,  I  lifted  him  neatly  off  his  feet, 
and  left  him  sitting  on  the  ground.  Rising,  he  rushed  at 
me  furiously,  caught  me  by  the  legs,  raised,  and  tried  to 
throw  me  over  his  shoulders. 

Then  the  fight  turned  in  my  favour.  I  had  once  on  my 
wanderings  met  a  man  who  had  been  a  wrestler,  and  he 
taught  me  certain  tricks  of  his  art.  I  had  a  good  opening 
before  me  now  for  one  of  them.  Gahey  had  hold  of  me  by 
the  knees,  and  both  his  arms  were  twined  tightly  around 
my  joints.  I  stooped  over  him,  gripped  him  around  the 
waist,  and  threw  myself  backwards  flat  to  the  ground.  As  I 
reached  the  earth  I  let  Gahey  go,  and  flying  clean  across  my 
head,  he  slid  along  the  rough  ground  on  his  naked  back. 
When  he  regained  his  feet  I  was  up  and  ready  for  him,  and  I 
knocked  him  down  again  with  a  good  blow  delivered  on  the 
fleshy  part,  where  the  lower  ribs  fork  inward  to  the  breast* 
bone.  That  settled  him  for  good.  The  crowd  cheered 
enthusiastically  and  went  back  to  their  cards.  One  or  two 
stopped  with  Gahey,  and  it  took  him  half  an  hour  to  recover. 
When  he  was  well  again  Moleskin  and  I  escorted  him  back 
to  the  shack. 

We  washed  our  wounds  together  and  talked  of  every- 


A  GREAT  FIGHT  207 

thing  but  the  fights  which  had  just  taken  place.  The 
result  of  the  quarrels  seemed  to  have  had  no  effect  on  the 
men,  but  my  heart  was  jumping  out  of  my  mouth  with 
pleasure.  I  had  beaten  one  of  the  great  fighters  of  Kin- 
lochleven  ;  I,  a  boy  of  nineteen,  who  had  never  shaved  yet, 
had  knocked  Gahey  to  the  ground  with  a  good  hard  punch, 
and  Gahey  was  a  man  twice  my  age  and  one  who  was 
victor  in  a  thousand  battles.  Excitement  seized  hold  of 
me,  my  step  became  alert,  and  I  walked  into  the  shack 
with  the  devil-may-care  swagger  of  a  fighting  man.  The 
gamblers  were  sitting  at  the  table  and  the  bright  glitter 
of  silver  caught  my  eye.  Big  Jim  Maloney  was  banker. 

"  Come  here,  ye  fightin'  men,"  he  cried ;  "  and  take  a 
hand  at  another  game." 

The  excitement  was  on  me.  In  my  pocket  I  had  three 
shillings  sub.,  and  I  put  it  down  on  the  board,  the  whole 
amount,  as  befitted  a  fighting  man.  I  won  once,  twice, 
three  times.  I  called  for  drinks  for  the  school.  I  put 
Maloney  out  of  the  bank,  I  backed  any  money,  and  all  the 
time  I  won.  The  word  passed  round  that  Flynn  was  playing 
a  big  game  ;  he  would  back  any  money.  More  and  more 
men  came  in  from  the  other  shacks  and  remained.  I 
could  hear  the  clink  of  bottles  all  round  me.  The  men  were 
drinking,  smoking,  and  swearing,  and  those  who  could  not 
get  near  the  table  betted  on  the  result  of  the  game. 

My  luck  continued.  The  pile  of  silver  beside  me  grew 
and  grew,  and  stray  pieces  of  gold  found  their  way  into  the 
pile  as  well.  Every  turn-up  was  an  ace  or  court-card. 
My  luck  was  unheard  of :  and  all  around  me  Kinlochleven 
stood  agape,  and  played  blindly,  as  if  fascinated.  Gain 
was  nothing  to  me,  the  game  meant  all.  I  called  for 
further  drinks ;  I  drank  myself,  although  I  was  already 
drunk  with  excitement.  I  had  forgotten  all  about  the 
good  resolutions  made  on  the  doorstep  of  Kinlochleven 
but  what  did  it  matter  ?  Let  my  environment  mould  me, 


208    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

let  Nature  follow  out  its  own  course,  she  knows  what  is 
best.  I  was  now  living  large  ;  the  game  held  me  captive, 
and  the  pile  of  glistening  silver  grew  in  size. 

A  man  beside  made  some  objection  to  my  turn-up.  He 
was  one  of  the  fiercest  men  in  the  shack,  and  he  was  known 
as  a  fighter  of  merit.  I  looked  him  between  the  eyes  for 
a  minute  and  he  flinched  before  my  gaze. 

"I'll  thrash  you  till  you  roar  for  mercy  !  "  I  called  at 
him  and  he  became  silent. 

The  drink  went  to  my  head  and  the  cards  turned  up 
began  to  play  strange  antics  before  my  eyes.  The  knaves 
and  queens  ran  together,  they  waltzed  over  the  place,  and 
the  lesser  cards  would  persist  in  eluding  my  hand  when  it 
went  out  to  grip  them.  I  was  terribly  drunk,  the  whisky 
and  the  excitement  were  overpowering  me. 

"  I'm  going  to  stop,  mateys,"  I  said,  and  I  caught  a  hand- 
ful of  gold  and  silver  and  put  it  into  my  pocket,  then 
staggered  to  my  feet.  A  cry  of  indignation  and  contempt 
arose.  "  I  was  not  going  to  allow  any  of  them  to  overtake 
their  luck ;  I  was  not  a  man  ;  I  was  a  mere  rogue."  I  was 
well  aware  of  the  fact  that  a  winner  is  always  honour 
bound  to  be  the  last  to  leave  the  table. 

"  I'm  going  to  play  no  more,"  I  said  bluntly. 

The  crowd  burst  into  a  torrent  of  abuse.  My  legs  were 
faltering  under  me,  and  I  wanted  to  get  into  bed.  I  would 
go  to  bed,  but  how  ?  The  players  might  not  allow  it ;  they 
wanted  their  money.  Then  I  would  give  it  to  them.  I 
put  my  hand  in  my  pocket,  pulled  out  the  cash,  and  flung  it 
amongst  the  crowd  of  players.  There  was  a  hurried 
scramble  all  round  me,  and  the  men  groped  in  the  muck 
and  dirt  for  the  stray  coins.  I  got  into  bed  with  my  clothes 
on  and  fell  asleep.  In  a  vague  sort  of  way  I  heard  the 
gamblers  talk  about  my  wonderful  luck,  and  some  of  them 
quarrelled  about  the  money  lifted  from  the  floor.  When 
morning  came  I  was  still  lying,  fully-dressed,  over  the 


A  GREAT  FIGHT  209 

blankets  on  the  centre  of  the  bed,  while  Joe  and  Gahey 
were  under  the  blankets  on  each  side  of  me. 

I  still  had  two  half-sovereigns  in  my  pocket  along 
with  a  certain  amount  of  smaller  cash,  and  these  coins 
reminded  me  of  my  game.  But  I  did  not  treasure  them  so 
much  as  the  long  scar  stretching  across  my  cheek,  and  the 
disfigured  eye,  which  were  tokens  of  the  fight  in  which  I 
thrashed  Hell-fire  Gahey.  All  that  day  I  lived  the  fight 
over  and  over  again,  and  the  victory  caused  me  to  place 
great  confidence  in  myself.  From  that  day  forward  I 
affected  a  certain  indifference  towards  other  fights,  thus  pre- 
tending that  I  considered  myself  to  be  above  such  petty 
scrapes. 

By  instinct  I  am  a  fighter.  I  never  shirk  a  fight,  and  the 
most  violent  contest  is  a  tonic  to  my  soul.  Sometimes 
when  in  a  thoughtful  mood  I  said  to  myself  that  fighting 
was  the  pastime  of  a  brute  or  a  savage.  I  said  that  because 
it  is  fashionable  for  the  majority  of  people,  spineless  and 
timid  as  they  are,  to  say  the  same.  But  fighting  is  not  the 
pastime  of  a  brute  ;  it  is  the  stern  reality  of  a  brute's  life. 
Only  by  fighting  will  the  fittest  survive.  But  to  man,  a 
physical  contest  is  a  pastime  and  a  joy.  I  love  to  see  a 
fight  with  the  bare  fists,  the  combatants  stripped  naked  to 
the  buff,  the  long  arms  stretching  out,  the  hard  knuckles 
showing  white  under  the  brown  skin  of  the  fists,  the  muscles 
sliding  and  slipping  like  live  eels  under  the  flesh,  the  steady 
and  quick  glance  of  the  eye,  the  soft  thud  of  fist  on  flesh, 
the  sharp  snap  of  a  blow  on  the  jaw,  and  the  final  scene 
where  one  man  drops  to  the  ground  while  the  other,  bathed 
in  blood  and  sweat,  smiles  in  acknowledgment  of  the 
congratulations  on  the  victory  obtained. 

Gambling  was  another  manner  of  fighting,  and  brim  full  of 
excitement.  In  it  no  man  knew  his  strength  until  he  paid 
for  it,  and  there  was  excitement  in  waiting  for  the  turn-up. 
Night  after  night  I  sat  down  to  the  cards,  sometimes  out 

p 


210    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

in  the  open  and  sometimes  by  the  deal  plank  on  the  floor 
of  Red  Billy's  shack.  Gambling  was  rife  and  unchecked. 
All  night  long  the  navvies  played  banker  and  brag ;  and 
those  who  worked  on  the  night-shift  took  up  the  game  that 
the  day  labourers  left  off.  One  Sunday  evening  alone  I 
saw  two  hundred  and  fifty  banker  schools  gathered  in  a 
sheltered  hollow  of  the  hills.  That  Sunday  I  remembered 
very  well,  for  I  happened  to  win  seven  pounds  at  a  single 
sitting,  which  lasted  from  seven  o'clock  on  a  Saturday 
evening  until  half-past  six  on  the  Monday  morning.  I 
finished  the  game,  went  out  to  my  work,  and  did  ten  hours' 
shift,  although  I  was  half  asleep  on  the  drill  handle  for 
the  best  part  of  the  time. 

One  day  a  man,  a  new  arrival,  came  to  me  and  proposed 
a  certain  plan  whereby  he  and  I  could  make  a  fortune  at 
the  gambling  school.  It  was  a  kind  of  swindle,  and  I  do 
not  believe  in  robbing  workers,  being  neither  a  thief  nor  a 
capitalist.  I  lifted  the  man  up  in  my  arms  and  took  him 
into  the  shack,  where  I  disclosed  his  little  plan  to  the 
inmates.  A  shack  some  distance  off  was  owned  by  a 
Belfast  man  named  Ramsay,  and  several  Orangemen  dwelt 
in  this  shack.  Moleskin  proposed  that  we  should  strip 
the  swindler  to  the  pelt,  paint  him  green,  and  send  him  to 
Ramsay's  shack.  Despite  the  man's  entreaties,  we  painted 
him  a  glorious  green,  and  when  the  night  came  on  we  took 
him  under  cover  of  the  darkness  to  Ramsay's  shack,  and 
tied  him  to  the  door.  In  the  morning  we  found  him, 
painted  orange,  outside  of  ours,  and  almost  dead  with  cold. 
We  gave  him  his  clothes  and  a  few  kicks,  and  chased  him 
from  the  place. 

I  intended,  when  I  came  to  Kinlochleven,  to  earn  money 
and  send  it  home  to  my  own  people,  and  the  intention  was 
nursed  in  good  earnest  until  I  lifted  my  first  day's  pay. 
Then  Moleskin  requested  the  loan  of  my  spare  cash,  and  I 
could  not  refuse  him,  a  pal  who  shared  his  very  last 


A  GREAT  FIGHT  211 

crumb  of  bread  with  me  time  and  again.  On  the  second 
evening  the  gamble  followed  the  fight  as  a  matter  of  course ; 
and  on  the  third  evening  and  every  evening  after  I  played — 
because  I  was  a  gambler  by  nature.  My  luck  was  not  the 
best ;  I  lost  most  of  my  wages  at  the  card-table,  and  the 
rest  went  on  drink.  I  know  not  whether  drink  and  gam- 
bling are  evils.  I  only  know  that  they  cheered  many  hours 
of  my  life,  and  caused  me  to  forget  the  miseries  of  being. 
If  drunkenness  was  a  vice,  I  humoured  it  as  a  man  might 
humour  sickness  or  any  other  evil.  But  drink  might  have 
killed  me,  one  will  say.  And  sickness  might  have  killed 
me,  I  answer.  When  a  man  is  dead  he  knows  neither 
hunger  nor  cold ;  he  suffers  neither  from  the  cold  of  the 
night  nor  the  craving  of  the  belly.  The  philosophy  is  crude, 
but  comforting,  and  it  was  mine.  To  gamble  and  drink  was 
part  of  my  nature,  and  for  nature  I  offer  no  excuses.  She 
knows  what  is  best. 

I  could  not  save  money,  I  hated  to  carry  it  about ;  it 
burned  a  hole  in  my  pocket  and  slipped  out.  I  was  no  slave 
to  it ;  I  detested  it.  How  different  now  were  my  thoughts 
from  those  which  buoyed  up  my  spirit  on  first  entering 
Kinlochleven  !  those  illusions,  like  previous  others,  had 
been  dispelled  before  the  hard  wind  of  reality.  I  looked 
on  life  nakedly,  and  henceforth  I  determined  to  shape  my 
own  future  in  such  a  way  that  neither  I,  nor  wife,  nor  child, 
should  repent  of  it.  Although  passion  ran  riot  in  my  blood, 
as  it  does  in  the  blood  of  youth,  I  resolved  never  to  marry 
and  bring  children  into  the  world  to  beg  and  starve  and  steal 
as  I  myself  had  done.  I  saw  life  as  it  was,  saw  it  clearly, 
standing  out  stark  from  its  covering  of  illusions.  I  looked 
on  love  cynically,  unblinded  by  the  fumes  off  the  midden- 
heap  of  lust,  and  my  life  lacked  the  phantom  happiness  of 
men  who  see  things  as  they  are  not. 

The  great  proportion  of  the  navvies  live  very  pure 
lives,  and  women  play  little  or  no  part  in  their  existence. 


212    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

The  women  of  the  street  seldom  come  near  a  model,  even 
when  the  navvies  come  in  from  some  completed  job  with 
money  enough  and  to  spare.  The  purity  of  their  lives  is 
remarkable  when  it  is  considered  that  they  seldom  marry. 
"  We  cannot  bring  children  into  the  world  to  suffer  like 
ourselves,"  most  of  them  say.  That  is  one  reason  why  they 
remain  single.  Therefore  the  navvy  is  seldom  the  son  of  a 
navvy ;  it  is  the  impoverished  and  the  passionate  who 
breed  men  like  us,  and  throw  us  adrift  upon  the  world  to 
wear  out  our  miserable  lives. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

DE  PROFUNDIS 

"  I've  got  kitchen  for  my  grub  out  of  the  mustard-pot  of  sorrow." 

— MOLESKIN  JOE. 

AT  that  time  there  were  thousands  of  navvies  work- 
ing at  Kinlochleven  waterworks.  We  spoke  of 
waterworks,  but  only  the  contractors  knew  what 
the  work  was  intended  for.  We  did  not  know,  and  we  did 
not  care.  We  never  asked  questions  concerning  the  ulti- 
mate issue  of  our  labours,  and  we  were  not  supposed  to  ask 
questions.  If  a  man  throws  red  muck  over  a  wall  to-day 
and  throws  it  back  again  to-morrow,  what  the  devil  is  it  to 
him  if  he  keeps  throwing  that  same  muck  over  the  wall 
for  the  rest  of  his  life,  knowing  not  why  nor  wherefore, 
provided  he  gets  paid  sixpence  an  hour  for  his  labour  ? 
There  were  so  many  tons  of  earth  to  be  lifted  and  thrown 
somewhere  else  ;  we  lifted  them  and  threw  them  somewhere 
else  :  so  many  cubic  yards  of  iron-hard  rocks  to  be  blasted 
and  carried  away ;  we  blasted  and  carried  them  away, 
but  never  asked  questions  and  never  knew  what  results 
we  were  labouring  to  bring  about.  We  turned  the  High- 
lands into  a  cinder-heap,  and  were  as  wise  at  the  beginning 
as  at  the  end  of  the  task.  Only  when  we  completed  the 
job,  and  returned  to  the  town,  did  we  learn  from  the  news- 
papers that  we  had  been  employed  on  the  construction  of  the 
biggest  aluminium  factory  in  the  kingdom.  All  that  we 
knew  was  that  we  had  gutted  whole  mountains  and  hills 
in  the  operations. 


214    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

We  toiled  on  the  face  of  the  mountain,  and  our  provisions 
came  up  on  wires  that  stretched  from  the  summit  to  the 
depths  of  the  valley  below.  Hampers  of  bread,  casks  of 
beer,  barrels  of  tinned  meat  and  all  manner  of  parcels 
followed  one  another  up  through  the  air  day  and  night  in 
endless  procession,  and  looked  for  all  the  world  like  great 
gawky  birds  which  still  managed  to  fly,  though  deprived 
of  their  wings. 

The  postman  came  up  amongst  us  from  somewhere 
every  day,  bringing  letters  from  Ireland,  and  he  was 
always  accompanied  by  two  policemen  armed  with  batons 
and  revolvers.  The  greenhorns  from  Ireland  wrote  home 
and  received  letters  now  and  again,  but  the  rest  of  us  had  no 
friends,  or  if  we  had  we  never  wrote  to  them. 

Over  an  area  of  two  square  miles  thousands  of  men 
laboured,  some  on  the  day-shift,  some  on  the  night-shift, 
some  engaged  on  blasting  operations,  some  wheeling  muck, 
and  others  building  dams  and  hewing  rock  facings.  A  sort 
of  rude  order  prevailed,  but  apart  from  the  two  policemen 
who  accompanied  the  letter-carrier  on  his  daily  rounds  no 
other  minion  of  the  law  ever  came  near  the  place.  This 
allowed  the  physically  strong  man  to  exert  considerable 
influence,  and  fistic  arguments  were  constantly  in  progress. 

Sometimes  a  stray  clergyman,  ornamented  with  a  stain- 
less white  collar,  had  the  impudence  to  visit  us  and  tell  us 
what  we  should  do.  These  visitors  were  most  amusing,  and 
we  enjoyed  their  exhortations  exceedingly.  Once  I  told 
one  of  them  that  if  he  was  more  in  keeping  with  the  Work- 
man whom  he  represented,  some  of  the  navvies  stupider 
than  myself  might  endure  his  presence,  but  that  no  one 
took  any  heed  of  the  apprentice  who  dressed  better  than 
his  Divine  Master.  We  usually  chased  these  faddists  away, 
and  as  they  seldom  had  courage  equal  to  their  impudence, 
they  never  came  near  us  again. 

There  was  a  graveyard  in  the  place,  and  a  few  went  there 


DE  PROFUNDIS  215 

from  the  last  shift  with  the  red  muck  still  on  their  trousers, 
and  their  long  unshaven  beards  still  on  their  faces.  Maybe 
they  died  under  a  fallen  rock  or  broken  derrick  jib.  Once 
dead  they  were  buried,  and  there  was  an  end  of  them. 

Most  of  the  men  lifted  their  sub.  every  second  day,  and 
the  amount  left  over  after  procuring  food  was  spent  in  the 
whisky  store  or  gambling-school.  Drunkenness  enjoyed 
open  freedom  in  Kinlochleven.  I  saw  a  man  stark  naked, 
lying  dead  drunk  for  hours  on  a  filthy  muck-pile.  No  one 
was  shocked,  no  one  was  amused,  and  somebody  stole  the 
man's  clothes.  When  he  became  sober  he  walked  around 
the  place  clad  in  a  blanket  until  he  procured  a  pair  of 
trousers  from  some  considerate  companion. 

I  never  stole  from  a  mate  in  Kinlochleven,  for  it  gave  me 
no  pleasure  to  thieve  from  those  who  were  as  poor  as  my- 
self ;  but  several  of  my  mates  had  no  compunction  in 
relieving  me  of  my  necessaries.  My  three  and  sixpenny 
keyless  watch  was  taken  from  my  breast  pocket  one  night 
when  I  was  asleep,  and  my  only  belt  disappeared  myste- 
riously a  week  later.  No  man  in  the  place  save  Moleskin 
Joe  ever  wore  braces.  I  had  only  one  shirt  in  my  possession, 
but  there  were  many  people  in  the  place  who  never  had  a 
shirt  on  their  backs.  Sometimes  when  the  weather  was 
good  I  washed  my  shirt,  and  I  lost  three,  one  after  the 
other,  when  I  hung  them  out  to  dry.  I  did  not  mind  that 
very  much,  knowing  well  that  it  only  passed  to  one  of  my 
mates,  who  maybe  needed  it  more  than  I  did.  If  I  saw 
one  of  my  missing  shirts  afterwards  I  took  it  from  the 
man  who  wore  it,  and  if  he  refused  to  give  it  to  me, 
knocked  him  down  and  took  it  by  force.  Afterwards  we 
bore  one  another  no  ill-will.  Stealing  is  rife  in  shack,  on 
road,  and  in  model,  but  I  have  never  known  one  of  my 
kind  to  have  given  up  a  mate  to  the  police.  That  is  one 
dishonourable  crime  which  no  navvy  will  excuse. 

As  the  days  went  on,  I  became  more  careless  of  myself, 


216    CHILDREN    OF  THE  DEAD  END 

and  I  seldom  washed.  I  became  like  my  mates,  like 
Moleskin,  who  was  so  fit  and  healthy,  and  who  never  washed 
from  one  year's  end  to  another.  Often  in  his  old  tin-pot 
way  he  remarked  that  a  man  could  often  be  better  than  his 
surroundings,  but  never  cleaner.  "  A  dirty  man's  the  only 
man  who  washes,"  he  often  said.  When  we  went  to  bed  at 
night  we  hid  our  clothes  under  the  pillows,  and  sometimes 
they  were  gone  in  the  morning.  In  the  bunk  beneath  ours 
slept  an  Irishman  named  Ward,  and  to  prevent  them  passing 
into  the  hands  of  thieves  he  wore  all  his  clothes  when  under 
the  blankets.  But  nevertheless,  his  boots  were  unlaced 
and  stolen  one  night  when  he  was  asleep  and  drunk. 

One  favourite  amusement  of  ours  was  the  looting  of 
provisions  as  they  came  up  on  the  wires  to  the  stores  on 
the  mountains.  Day  and  night  the  hampers  of  bread  and 
casks  of  beer  were  passing  over  our  heads  suspended  in  mid- 
air on  the  glistening  metal  strings.  Sometimes  the  weighty 
barrels  and  cases  dragged  the  wires  downwards  until  their 
burdens  rested  on  the  shoulder  of  some  uprising  knoll. 
By  night  we  sallied  forth  and  looted  all  the  provisions  on 
which  we  could  lay  our  hands.  We  rifled  barrels  and  cases, 
took  possession  of  bread,  bacon,  tea,  and  sugar,  and  filled 
our  stomachs  cheaply  for  days  afterwards.  The  tops  of 
fallen  casks  we  staved  in,  and  using  our  hands  as  cups  drank 
of  the  contents  until  we  could  hold  no  more.  Sometimes 
men  were  sent  out  to  watch  the  hillocks  and  see  that  no 
one  looted  the  grub  and  drink.  These  men  were  paid 
double  for  their  work.  They  deserved  double  pay,  for  of 
their  own  accord  they  tilted  the  barrels  and  cases  from  their 
rests  and  kept  them  under  their  charge  until  we  arrived. 
Then  they  helped  us  to  dispose  of  the  contents.  Usually  the 
watcher  lay  dead  drunk  beside  his  post  in  the  morning. 
Of  course  he  got  his  double  pay. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII 

A  LITTLE  TRAGEDY 

"  The  sweat  was  wet  on  his  steaming  loins  and  shoulders  bent  and 

scarred, 
And  he  dropped  to  earth  like  a  spavined  mule  that's  struck  in 

the  knacker's  yard. 
Bury  him  deep  in  the  red,  red  muck,  and  pile  the  clay  on  his 

breast, 

For  all  that  he  needs  for  his  years  of  toil  are  years  of  unbroken 
rest." 

— From  the  song  thai  follows. 

TALKING  of  thieving  puts  me  in  mind  of  the 
tragedy   of   English   Bill.     Bill  was   a   noted 
thief.     He  would   have  robbed   his  mother's 
corpse,  it  was  said.     There  were  three  sayings  in  Kinloch- 
leven,  and  they  were  as  follows  : 

Moleskin  Joe  would  gamble  on  his  father's  tombstone. 
English  Bill  would  rob  his  mother  of  her  winding-sheet. 
Flynn  would  fight  his  own  shadow  and  get  the  best  of  it. 

The  three  of  us  were  mates,  and  we  were  engaged  on  a 
special  job,  blasting  a  rock  facing,  in  the  corner  of  a  secluded 
cutting.  There  was  very  little  room  for  movement,  and 
we  had  to  do  the  job  all  by  ourselves.  One  evening  we 
set  seven  charges  of  dynamite  in  the  holes  which  we  had 
drilled  during  the  day,  put  the  fuses  alight,  and  hurried 
off  to  a  place  of  safety,  and  there  waited  until  the  ex- 
plosion was  over.  While  the  thunder  of  the  riven  earth 
was  still  in  our  ears  the  ganger  blew  his  whistle,  the  signal 
to  cease  work  and  return  to  our  shacks. 

Next  morning  Bill  reappeared  wearing  a  strong  heavily- 


218    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

soled  pair  of  new  bluchers  which  he  had  purchased  on  the 
evening  previously. 

"  They're  a  good  pair  of  understandings,  Bill,"  I  said,  as 
I  examined  my  mate's  boots  with  a  feeling  of  envy. 

"  A  damned  good  pair !  "  said  Moleskin  ruefully,  look- 
ing at  his  own  bare  toes  peeping  through  the  ragged  leather 
of  his  emaciated  uppers. 

Bill's  face  glowed  with  pride  as  he  lifted  his  pick  and  pro- 
ceeded to  clean  out  the  refuse  from  the  rock  face.  Bill  was 
always  in  a  hurry  to  start  work,  and  Joe  often  prophesied 
that  the  man  would  come  to  a  bad  end.  On  this  morning 
Joe  was  in  a  bad  temper,  for  he  had  drunk  too  well  the  night 
before. 

"  Stow  it,  you  fool,"  he  growled  at  Bill.  "  You're  a 
damned  hasher,  and  no  ganger  within  miles  of  you  !  " 

Bill  made  no  reply,  but  lifted  his  pick  and  drove  it  into 
the  rock  which  we  had  blasted  on  the  day  before.  As  he 
struck  the  ground  there  was  a  deadly  roar  ;  the  pick 
whirled  round,  sprung  upwards,  twirled  in  the  air  like  a 
wind-swept  straw,  and  entered  Bill's  throat  just  a  finger's 
breadth  below  the  Adam's  apple.  One  of  the  dynamite 
charges  had  failed  to  explode  on  the  previous  day,  and  Bill 
had  struck  it  with  the  point  of  the  pick,  and  with  this  tool 
which  had  earned  him  his  livelihood  for  many  years  stick- 
ing in  his  throat  he  stood  for  a  moment  swaying  unsteadily. 
He  laughed  awkwardly  as  if  ashamed  of  what  had  happened, 
then  dropped  silently  to  the  ground.  The  pick  slipped 
out,  a  red  foam  bubbled  on  the  man's  lips  for  a  second,  and 
that  was  all. 

The  sight  unnerved  us  for  a  moment,  but  we  quickly 
recovered.  We  had  looked  on  death  many  times,  and  our 
virgin  terror  was  now  almost  lost. 

"  He's  no  good  here  now,"  said  Moleskin  sadly.  "  We'll 
look  for  a  muck-barrow  and  wheel  him  down  to  the  hut. 
Didn't  I  always  say  that  he  would  come  to  a  bad  end,  him 


A  LITTLE  TRAGEDY  219 

with  his  hurry  and  flurry  and  his  frothy  get-about  way  ?  " 

"  He  saved  us  by  his  hurry,  anyhow,"  I  remarked. 

We  turned  the  man  over  and  straightened  his  limbs, 
then  hurried  off  for  a  muck-barrow.  On  corning  back  we 
discovered  that  some  person  had  stolen  the  man's  boots. 

"  They  should  have  been  taken  by  us  before  we  left  him," 
I  said. 

"  You're  damned  right,"  assented  Joe. 

Several  of  the  men  gathered  around,  and  together  we 
wheeled  poor  Bill  down  to  the  hut  along  the  rickety  barrow 
road.  His  face  was  white  under  the  coating  of  beard,  and 
his  poor  naked  feet  looked  very  blue  and  cold.  All  the 
workmen  took  off  their  caps  and  stood  bareheaded  until 
we  passed  out  of  sight.  No  one  knew  whose  turn  would 
come  next.  When  Bill  was  buried  I  wrote,  at  the  request 
of  Moleskin  Joe,  a  song  on  the  tragedy.  I  called  the  song 
"  A  Little  Tragedy,"  and  I  read  it  to  my  mate  as  we  sat 
together  in  a  quiet  corner  of  the  hut. 

"  A    LITTLE   TRAGEDY. 

"  The  sweat  was  wet  on  his  steaming  loins  and  shoulders  bent  and 

scarred, 
And  he  dropped  to  earth  like  a  spavined  mule  that's  struck  in  the 

knacker's  yard. 
Bury  him  deep  in  the  red,  red  muck,  and  pile  the  clay  on  his 

breast, 
For  all  that  he  needs  for  his  years  of  toil  are  years  of  unbroken 

rest. 

"  And  who  has  mothered  this  kinless  one  ?  Why  should  we  want 
to  know 

As  we  hide  his  face  from  the  eyes  of  men  and  his  flesh  from  the 
hooded  crow  ? 

Had  he  a  sweetheart  to  wait  for  him,  with  a  kiss  for  his  toil- 
worn  face  ? 

It  doesn't  matter,  for  here  or  there  another  can  fill  his  place. 

"  Is  there  a  prayer  to  be  prayed  for  him  ?    Or  is  there  a  bell  to  toll  ? 
We'll  do  the  best  for  the  body  that's  dead,  and  God  can  deal 

with  the  soul. 

We'll  bury  him  decently  out  of  sight,  and  he  who  can  may  pray, 
For  maybe  our  turn  will  come  to-morrow  though  his  has  come 

to-day. 


220    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

"  And  maybe  Bill  had  hopes  of  his  own  and  a  sort  of  vague  desire 
For  a  pure  woman  to  share  his  home  and  sit  beside  his  fire  ; 
Joys  like  these  he  has  maybe  desired,  but  living  and  dying  wild, 
He  has  never  known  of  a  maiden's  love  nor  felt  the  kiss  of  a  child. 

"  In  life  he  was  worth  some  shillings  a  day  when  there  was  work 

to  do, 
In  death  he  is  worth  a  share  of  the  clay  which  in  life  he  laboured 

through  ; 

Wipe  the  spume  from  his  pallid  lips,  and  quietly  cross  his  hands, 
And  leave  him  alone  with  the  Mother  Earth  and  the  Master  who 

understands." 

My  mate  seemed  very  much  impressed  by  the  poem,  and 
remained  silent  for  a  long  while  after  I  had  finished  reading 
it  from  the  dirty  scrap  of  tea-paper  on  which  it  was  written. 

"  Have  you  ever  cared  a  lot  for  some  one  girl,  Flynn  ?  " 
he  asked  suddenly. 

"  No,"  I  answered,  for  I  had  never  disclosed  my  little 
love  affair  to  any  man. 

"  Have  you  ever  cared  a  lot  for  one  girl,  Flynn  ?  " 
repeated  Joe. 

"  I  have  cared — once,"  I  replied,  and,  obeying  the  impulse 
of  the  moment,  I  told  Joe  the  story.  He  looked  grave  when 
I  had  finished. 

"  They're  all  the  same,"  he  said ;  "  all  the  same.  I 
cared  for  a  wench  myself  one  time  and  I  intended  to  marry 
her." 

I  looked  at  my  mate's  unshaven  face,  his  dirty  clothes, 
and  I  laughed  outright. 

"  I'm  nothin'  great  in  the  beauty  line,"  went  on  Mole- 
skin as  if  divining  my  thoughts ;  "  but  when  I  washed 
myself  years  ago  I  was  pretty  passable.  She  was  a  fine 
girl,  mine,  and  I  thought  that  she  was  decent  and  above- 
board.  It  cost  me  money  and  time  to  find  out  what  she 
was,  and  in  the  end  I  found  that  she  was  the  mother  of 
two  kids,  and  the  lawful  wife  of  no  man.  It  was  a  great 
slap  in  the  face  for  me,  Flynn." 

"  It  must  have  been,"  was  all  that  I  could  say. 


A  LITTLE  TRAGEDY  221 

"  By  God  !  it  was,"  Moleskin  replied.  "  I  tried  to  drink 
my  regret  away,  but  I  never  could  manage  it.  Have  you 
ever  wrote  a  love  song  ?  " 

"  I've  written  one,"  I  said. 

"  Will  you  say  it  to  me  ?  "  asked  Joe. 

I  had  written  a  love  song  long  before,  and  knew  it  by 
heart,  for  it  was  a  song  which  I  liked  very  much.  I  recited 
it  to  my  mate,  speaking  in  half -whispers  so  that  the  gamblers 
at  the  far  end  of  the  shack  could  not  hear  me. 

"  A   LOVE  SONG 

"  Greater  by  far  than  all  that  men  know,  or  alt  that  men  see  is  this — 
The  lingering  clasp  of  a  maiden's  hand  and  the  warmth  of  her 

virgin  kiss, 
The  tresses  that  cover  the  pure  white  brow  in  many  a  clustering 

curl, 
And  the  deep  look  of  honest  ,ove  in  the  grey  eyes  of  a  girl. 

"  Because  of  that  I  am  stronger  than  death  and  life  is  barren  no 

more, 
For  otherwise  wrongs  that  I  hardly  feel  would  sink  to  the  heart's 

deep  core, 

For  otherwise  hope  were  utterly  lost  in  the  endless  paths  of  wrong — 
But  only  to  look  in  her  soft  grey  eyes — I  am  strong,  I  am  strong  ! 

Does  she  love  as  I  love  ?    I  do  not  know,  but  all  that  I  know  is 

this— 
'Tis  enough  to  stay  for  an  hour  at  her  side  and  dream  awhile  of 

her  kiss, 
'Tis  enough  to  clasp  the  hands  of  her,  and  'neath  the  shade  of 

her  hair 
To  press  my  lips  on  her  lily  brow  and  leave  my  kisses  there. 

"  In  the  dreary  days  on  the  vagrant  ways  whereon  my  feet  have 

trod 

She  came  as  a  star  to  cheer  my  way,  a  guiding  star  from  God, 
She  came  from  the  dreamy  choirs  of  heaven,  lovely  and  wondrous 

wise, 
And  I  follow  the  path  that  is  lighted  up  by  her  eyes,  her  eyes." 

"  I  don't  like  that  song,  because  I  don't  know  what  it  is 
about,"  said  Moleskin  when  I  had  finished.  "  The  one 
about  English  Bill  is  far  and  away  better.  When  you  talk 
about  a  man  that  drops  like  a  spavined  mule  in  the 
knacker's  yard,  I  know  what  you  mean,  but  a  girl  that 


222    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD   END 

comes  from  the  dreamy  choirs  of  heaven,  wherever  they 
are,  is  not  the  kind  of  wench  for  a  man  like  you  and  me, 
Flynn." 

I  felt  a  little  disappointed,  and  made  no  reply  to  the 
criticism  of  my  mate. 

"  Do  you  ever  think  how  nice  it  would  be  to  have  a  home 
of  your  own  ?  "  asked  Moleskin  after  a  long  silence,  and  a 
vigorous  puffing  at  the  pipe  which  he  held  between  his 
teeth.  "  It  would  be  fine  to  have  a  room  to  sit  in  and  a  nice 
fire  to  warm  your  shins  at  of  an  evenin'.  I  often  think 
how  roarin'  it  would  be  to  sit  in  a  parlour  and  drink  tea 
with  a  wife,  and  have  a  little  child  to  kiss  me  as  you  talk 
about  in  the  song  on  the  death  of  English  Bill." 

I  did  not  like  to  hear  my  big-boned,  reckless  mate  talk 
in  such  a  way.  Such  talk  was  too  delicate  and  senti- 
mental for  a  man  like  him. 

"  You're  a  fool,  Joe,"  I  said. 

"  I  suppose  I  am,"  he  answered.  "  But  just  you  wait 
till  you  come  near  the  turn  of  life  like  me,  and  find  a  sort 
of  stiffness  grippin'  on  your  bones,  then  you'll  maybe  have 
thoughts  kind  of  like  these.  A  young  fellow,  cully,  mayn't 
care  a  damn  if  he  is  on  the  dead  end,  but  by  God !  it  is  a 
different  story  when  you  are  as  stiff  as  a  frozen  poker 
with  one  foot  in  the  grave  and  another  in  hell, 
Flynn." 

"  It  was  a  different  story  the  day  you  met  the  plough- 
man, on  our  journey  from  Greenock,"  I  said.  "  You  must 
have  changed  your  mind,  Moleskin  ?  " 

"  I  said  things  to  that  ploughman  that  I  didn't  exactly 
believe  myself,"  said  my  mate.  "  I  would  do  anything 
and  say  anything  to  get  the  best  of  an  argument." 

Many  a  strange  conversation  have  I  had  with  Moleskin 
Joe.  One  evening  when  I  was  seated  by  the  hot-plate 
engaged  in  patching  my  corduroy  trousers  Joe  came  up 
to  me  with  a  question  which  suddenly  occurred  to  him. 


A  LITTLE  TRAGEDY  223 

I  was  held  to  be  a  sort  of  learned  man,  and  everybody  in  the 
place  asked  me  my  views  upon  this  and  that,  and  no  one 
took  any  heed  of  my  opinions.  Most  of  them  acknowledged 
that  I  was  nearly  as  great  a  poet  as  Two-shift  Mullholland, 
now  decently  married,  and  gone  from  the  ranks  of  the 
navvies. 

"  Do  you  believe  in  God,  Flynn  ?  "  was  Joe's  question. 

"  I  believe  in  a  God  of  a  sort,"  I  answered.  "  I  believe 
in  the  God  who  plays  with  a  man,  as  a  man  plays  with  a 
dog,  who  allows  suffering  and  misery  and  pain.  The '  Holy- 
Willy  '  look  on  a  psalm-singing  parson's  dial  is  of  no  more 
account  to  Him  than  a  blister  on  a  beggar's  foot." 

"  I  only  asked  you  the  question,  just  as  a  start-off  to 
tellin'  you  my  own  opinion,"  said  Joe.  "  Sometimes  I 
think  one  thing  about  God,  and  sometimes  I  think  another 
thing.  The  song  that  you  wrote  about  English  Bill  talks 
of  God  takin'  care  of  the  soul,  and  it  just  came  into  my  head 
to  ask  your  opinion  and  tell  you  my  own.  As  for  myself, 
when  I  see  a  man  droppin'  down  like  a  haltered  gin-horse 
at  his  work  I  don't  hold  much  with  what  parsons  say  about 
the  goodness  of  Providence.  At  other  times,  when  I  am 
tramping  about  in  the  lonely  night,  with  the  stars  out  above 
me  and  the  world  kind  of  holding  its  breath  as  if  it  was 
afraid  of  something,  I  do  be  thinking  that  there  is  a  God 
after  all.  I'd  rather  that  there  is  none  ;  for  He  is  sure  to 
have  a  heavy  tally  against  me  if  He  puts  down  all  the  things 
I've  done.  But  where  is  heaven  if  there  is  such  a  place  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  replied. 

"  If  you  think  of  it,  there  is  no  end  to  anything,"  Mole- 
skin went  on.  "  If  you  could  go  up  above  the  stars,  there 
is  surely  a  place  above  them,  and  another  place  in  turn 
above  that  again.  You  cannot  think  of  a  place  where  there 
is  nothing,  and  as  far  as  I  can  see  there  is  no  end  to  anything. 
You  can't  think  of  the  last  day  as  they  talk  about,  for  that 
would  mean  the  end  of  time.  It's  funny  to  think  of  a  man 


224    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

sayin'  that  there'll  be  no  time  after  such  and  such  a  time. 
How  can  time  stop  ?  " 

I  tried  to  explain  to  Joe  that  time  and  space  did  not 
exist,  that  they  were  illusions  used  for  practical  purposes. 

"  No  man  can  understand  these  things,"  said  Joe,  as  I 
fumbled  through  my  explanation  of  the  non-existence  of 
time  and  space.  "  I  have  often  looked  at  the  little  brooks 
by  the  roadside  and  saw  the  water  runnin',  runnin', 
always  lookin'  the  same,  and  the  water  different  always. 
When  I  looked  at  the  little  brooks  I  often  felt  frightened, 
because  I  could  not  understand  them.  All  these  things 
are  the  same,  and  no  man  can  understand  them.  Why  does 
a  brook  keep  runnin'  ?  Why  do  the  stars  come  out  at 
night  ?  Is  there  a  God  in  Heaven  ?  Nobody  knows,  and 
a  man  may  puzzle  about  these  things  till  he's  black  in  the 
face  and  grey  in  the  head,  but  he'll  never  get  any  further." 

"  English  Bill  may  know  more  about  these  things  than 
we  do,"  I  said. 

"  How  could  a  dead  man  know  anything  ?  "  asked  Joe, 
and  when  I  could  not  explain  the  riddle,  he  borrowed  a 
shilling  from  me  and  lost  it  at  the  gaming-table. 

That  was  Joe  all  over.  One  moment  he  was  looking  for 
God  in  Nature,  and  on  the  next  instant  he  was  looking  for 
a  shilling  to  stake  on  the  gaming-table.  Once  in  an  argu- 
ment with  me  he  called  the  world  "  God's  gamblin'  table," 
and  endeavoured  to  prove  that  God  threw  down  men, 
reptiles,  nations,  and  elements  like  dice  to  the  earth,  one 
full  of  hatred  for  the  other  and  each  filled  with  a  desire 
for  supremacy,  and  that  God  and  His  angels  watched  the 
great  struggle  down  below,  and  betted  on  the  result  of  its 
ultimate  issue. 

"  Of  course  the  angels  will  not  back  Kinlochleven  very 
heavily,"  he  concluded. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

I  WRITE  FOR  THE  PAPERS 

"  '  Awful  Railway  Disaster,' 
The  newspapers  chronicle, 
The  men  in  the  street  are  buying. 
My  !  don't  the  papers  sell. 
And  the  editors  say  in  their  usual  way, 
'  The  story  is  going  well.'  " 

— From  Songs  of  the  Dead  End. 

DAY  after  day  passed  and  the  autumn  was  waning. 
The  work  went  on,  shift  after  shift,  and  most 
of  the  money  that  I  earned  was  spent  on  the 
gambling  table  or  in  the  whisky  store.  Now  and  again 
I  wrote  home,  and  sent  a  few  pounds  to  my  people,  but 
I  never  sent  them  my  address.  I  did  not  want  to  be 
upbraided  for  my  negligence  in  sending  them  so  little. 
The  answers  to  my  letters  would  always  be  the  same : 
"  Send  more  money  ;  send  more  money.  You'll  never 
have  a  day's  luck  if  you  do  not  help  your  parents  !  "  I 
did  not  want  answers  like  that,  so  I  never  sent  my 
address. 

One  night  towards  the  end  of  October  I  had  lost  all 
my  money  at  the  gambling  school,  although  Moleskin  had 
twice  given  me  a  stake  to  retrieve  my  fallen  fortunes.  I 
left  the  shack,  went  out  into  the  darkness,  a  fire  in  my 
head  and  emptiness  in  my  heart.  Around  me  the  stark 
mountain  peaks  rose  raggedly  against  the  pale  horns  of 
the  anaemic  moon.  Outside  the  whisky  store  a  crowd  of 
men  stood,  dark  looks  on  their  faces,  and  the  wild  blood 

0 


226    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

of  mischief  behind.  Inside  each  shack  a  dozen  or  more 
gamblers  sat  cross-legged  in  circles  on  the  ground,  playing 
banker  or  brag,  and  the  clink  of  money  could  be  heard 
as  it  passed  from  hand  to  hand.  Above  them  the  naphtha 
lamps  hissed  and  spluttered  and  smelt,  the  dim,  sickly 
light  showed  the  unwashed  and  unshaven  faces  beneath, 
and  the  eager  eyes  that  sparkled  brightly,  seeing  nothing 
but  the  movements  of  the  game.  Down  in  the  cuttings 
men  were  labouring  on  the  night-shift,  gutting  out  the 
bowels  of  the  mountain  places,  and  forcing  their  way 
through  the  fastness  steadily,  slowly  and  surely.  I  could 
hear  the  dynamite  exploding  and  shattering  to  pieces  the 
rock  in  which  it  was  lodged.  The  panting  of  weary  hammer- 
men was  loud  in  the  darkness,  and  the  rude  songs  which 
enlivened  the  long  hours  of  the  night  floated  up  to  me 
from  the  trough  of  the  hills. 

I  took  my  way  over  the  slope  of  the  mountain,  over 
the  pigmies  who  wrought  beneath,  fighting  the  great  fight 
which  man  has  to  wage  eternally  against  nature.  Down 
in  the  cutt:ngs  I  could  see  my  mates  toiling  amidst  the 
broken  earth,  the  sharp  ledges  of  hewn  rock,  and  the  net- 
work of  gang-planks  and  straining  derricks  that  rose  all 
around  them.  The  red  glare  of  a  hundred  evil-smelling 
torches  flared  dismally,  and  over  the  sweltering  men  the 
dark  smoke  faded  away  into  the  rays  of  the  pallid  moon. 
With  the  rising  smoke  was  mingled  the  steam  of  the  men's 
bent  shoulders  and  steaming  loins. 

Above  and  over  all,  the  mystery  of  the  night  and  the 
desert  places  hovered  inscrutable  and  implacable.  All 
around  the  ancient  mountains  sat  like  brooding  witches, 
dreaming  on  their  own  story  of  which  they  knew  neither 
the  beginning  nor  the  end.  Naked  to  the  four  winds  of 
heaven  and  all  the  rains  of  the  world,  they  had  stood  there 
for  countless  ages  in  all  their  sinister  strength,  undefied 
and  unconquered,  until  man,  with  puny  hands  and  little 


I  WRITE  FOR  THE  PAPERS      227 

tools  of  labour,  came  to  break  the  spirit  of  their  ancient 
mightiness. 

And  we,  the  men  who  braved  this  task,  were  outcasts 
of  the  world.  A  blind  fate,  a  vast  merciless  mechanism, 
cut  and  shaped  the  fabric  of  our  existence.  We  were  men 
flogged  to  the  work  which  we  had  to  do,  and  hounded  from 
the  work  which  we  had  accomplished.  We  were  men 
despised  when  we  were  most  useful,  rejected  when  we 
were  not  needed,  and  forgotten  when  our  troubles  weighed 
upon  us  heavily.  We  were  the  men  sent  out  to  fight  the 
spirit  of  the  wastes,  rob  it  of  all  its  primeval  horrors,  and 
batter  down  the  barriers  of  its  world-old  defences.  Where 
we  were  working  a  new  town  would  spring  up  some  day ; 
it  was  already  springing  up,  and  then,  if  one  of  us  walked 
there,  "  a  man  with  no  fixed  address,"  he  would  be  taken 
up  and  tried  as  a  loiterer  and  vagrant. 

Even  as  I  thought  of  these  things  a  shoulder  of  jagged 
rock  fell  into  a  cutting  far  below.  There  was  the  sound 
of  a  scream  in  the  distance,  and  a  song  died  away  in  the 
throat  of  some  rude  singer.  Then  out  of  the  pit  I  saw 
men,  red  with  the  muck  of  the  deep  earth  and  redder 
still  with  the  blood  of  a  stricken  mate,  come  forth,  bearing 
between  them  a  silent  figure.  Another  of  the  pioneers  of 
civilisation  had  given  up  his  life  for  the  sake  of 
society. 

I  returned  to  the  shack,  and,  full  of  the  horror  of  the 
tragedy,  I  wrote  an  account  of  it  on  a  scrap  of  tea-paper. 
I  had  no  design,  no  purpose  in  writing,  but  I  felt  com- 
pelled to  scribble  down  the  thoughts  which  entered  my 
mind.  I  wrote  rapidly,  but  soon  wearied  of  my  work. 
I  was  proceeding  to  tear  up  the  manuscript  when  my  eye 
fell  on  a  newspaper  which  had  just  come  into  the  shack 
wrapped  around  a  chunk  of  mouldy  beef.  A  thought 
came  to  me  there  and  then.  I  would  send  my  account  of 
the  tragedy  to  the  editor  of  that  Lpaper.  It  was  the 


228    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

Dawn,  a  London  halfpenny  daily.  I  had  never  heard  of 
it  before. 

I  had  no  envelope  in  my  possession.  I  searched  through 
the  shack  and  found  one,  dirty,  torn,  and  disreputable 
in  appearance.  Amongst  all  those  men  there  was  not 
another  to  be  found.  I  did  not  rewrite  my  story.  Scrawled 
with  pencil  on  dirty  paper,  and  enclosed  in  a  dirtier  envelope, 
I  sent  it  off  to  Fleet  Street  and  forgot  all  about  it.  But, 
strange  to  say,  in  four  days'  time  I  received  an  answer 
from  the  editor  of  the  Dawn,  asking  me  to  send  some  more 
stories  of  the  same  kind,  and  saying  that  he  was  prepared 
to  pay  me  two  guineas  for  each  contribution  accepted. 

The  acceptance  of  my  story  gave  me  no  great  delight ; 
I  often  went  into  greater  enthusiasm  over  a  fight  in  the 
Kinlochleven  ring.  But  outside  a  fight  or  a  stiff  game  of 
cards,  there  are  few  things  which  cause  me  to  become 
excited.  My  success  as  a  writer  discomfited  me  a  little 
even.  I  at  first  felt  that  I  was  committing  some  sin  against 
my  mates.  I  was  working  on  a  shift  which  they  did  not 
understand ;  and  men  look  with  suspicion  on  things  be- 
yond their  comprehension.  A  man  may  make  money  at 

fight,  a  gaming  table  or  at  a  shift,  but  the  man  who  made 
money  with  a  dirty  pencil  and  a  piece  of  dirty  paper  was 
an  individual  who  had  no  place  in  my  mates'  scheme  of 
things. 

For  all  that,  the  editor's  letter  created  great  stir  amongst 
my  mates.  It  passed  round  the  shack  and  was  so  dirty 
on  coming  back  that  I  couldn't  read  a  word  of  it.  Red 
Billy  said  that  he  could  not  understand  it,  and  that  I 
must  have  copied  what  I  had  written  from  some  other 
paper.  Moleskin  Joe  said  that  I  was  the  smartest  man  he 
had  ever  met,  by  cripes  !  I  was.  He  took  great  pleasure 
in  calling  me  "  that  mate  of  mine  "  ever  afterwards.  Old 
Sandy  MacDonald,  who  had  come  from  the  Isle  of  Skye, 
and  who  was  wasting  slowly  away,  said  that  he  knew  a 


I  WRITE  FOR  THE  PAPERS      229 

young  lad  like  me  who  went  from  the  Highlands  to  London 
and  made  his  fortune  by  writing  for  the  papers. 

"  He  had  no  other  wark  but  writin',  and  he  made  his 
fortune,"  Sandy  asserted,  and  everyone  except  myself 
laughed  at  this.  It  was  such  a  funny  thing  to  hear  old 
Sandy  make  his  first  joke,  my  mates  thought.  A  man  to 
earn  his  living  by  writing  for  the  papers  !  Whoever  heard 
of  such  a  thing  ? 

In  all  I  wrote  five  articles  for  the  Dawn,  then  found  that 
I  could  write  no  more.  I  had  told  five  truthful  and  exciting 
incidents  of  my  navvying  life,  and  I  was  not  clever  enough 
to  tell  lies  about  it.  Ten  guineas  came  to  me  from  Fleet 
Street.  Six  of  these  I  sent  home  to  my  own  people,  and  for 
the  remainder  I  purchased  many  an  hour's  joy  in  the 
whisky  store  and  many  a  night's  life-giving  excitement 
at  the  gaming  table. 

I  sent  my  address  home  with  the  letter,  and  when  my 
mother  replied  she  was  so  full  of  her  grievances  that 
she  had  no  time  to  enquire  if  I  had  any  of  my  own.  Another 
child  had  been  born,  and  the  family  in  all  now  consisted 
of  thirteen. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

WINTER 

"  Do  you  mind  the  nights  we  laboured,  boys,  together, 
Spreadeagled  at  our  travail  on  the  joists, 
With  the  pulley-wheels  a-turning  and  the  naphtha  lamps 

a-burning, 

And  the  mortar  crawling  upwards  on  the  hoists, 
When  our  hammers  clanked  like  blazes  on  the  facing, 
When  the  trestles  shook  and  staggered  as  we  struck, 
When  the  derricks  on  their  pivots  strained  and  broke  the 

crank-wheel  rivets 
As  the  shattered  jib  sank  heavy  in  the  muck  ?  " 

— From  Songs  of  the  Dead  End. 

THE  winter  was  at  hand.  When  the  night  drew 
near,  a  great  weariness  came  over  the  face  of 
the  sun  as  it  sank  down  behind  the  hills  which 
had  seen  a  million  sunsets.  The  autumn  had  been  mild 
and  gentle,  its  breezes  soft,  its  showers  light  and  cool. 
But  now,  slowly  and  surely,  the  great  change  was  taking 
place ;  a  strange  stillness  settled  softly  on  the  lonely 
places.  Nature  waited  breathless  on  the  threshold  of  some 
great  event,  holding  her  hundred  winds  suspended  in  a 
fragile  leash.  The  heather  bells  hung  motionless  on  their 
stems,  the  torrents  dropped  silently  as  smoke  from  the 
scarred  edges  of  the  desolate  ravines,  but  in  this  silence 
there  lay  a  menace  ;  in  its  supreme  poise  was  the  threat 
of  coming  danger.  The  crash  of  our  hammers  was  an 
outrage,  and  the  exploding  dynamite  a  sacrilege  against 
tired  nature. 

A  great  weariness  settled  over  us ;  our  life  lacked  colour, 
we  were  afraid  of  the  silence,  the  dulness  of  the  surrounding 


WINTER  231 

mountains  weighed  heavily  on  our  souls.  The  sound  of 
labour  was  a  comfort,  the  thunder  of  our  hammers  went 
up  as  a  threat  against  the  vague  implacable  portent  of 
the  wild. 

Life  to  me  had  now  become  dull,  expressionless,  stupid. 
Only  in  drink  was  there  contentment,  only  in  a  fight  was 
there  excitement.  I  hated  the  brown  earth,  the  slushy 
muck  and  gritty  rock,  but  in  the  end  hatred  died  out  and 
I  was  almost  left  without  passion  or  longing.  My  life  now 
had  no  happiness  and  no  great  sadness.  My  soul  was  proof 
against  sorrow  as  it  was  against  joy.  Happiness  and  woe 
were  of  no  account ;  life  was  a  spread  of  brown  muck, 
without  any  relieving  splash  of  lighter  or  darker  colours. 
For  all  that,  I  had  no  great  desire  (desire  was  almost  dead 
even)  to  go  down  to  the  Lowlands  and  look  for  a  newer 
job.  So  I  stayed  amidst  the  brown  muck  and  existed. 

When  I  had  come  up  my  thoughts  for  a  long  while  were 
eternally  straying  to  Norah  Ryan,  but  in  the  end  she 
became  to  me  little  more  than  a  memory,  a  frail  and 
delightful  phantom  of  a  fleeting  dream. 

The  coming  of  winter  was  welcome.  The  first  nipping 
frost  was  a  call  to  battle,  and,  though  half  afraid,  most  of 
the  men  were  willing  to  accept  the  challenge.  A  few,  it 
is  true,  went  off  to  Glasgow,  men  old  and  feeble  who  were 
afraid  of  the  coming  winter. 

In  the  fight  to  come  the  chances  were  against  us.  Rugged 
cabins  with  unplanked  floors,  leaking  roofs,  flimsy  walls, 
through  the  chinks  of  which  the  winds  cut  like  knives, 
meagre  blankets,  mouldy  food,  well-worn  clothes,  and  bat- 
tered bluchers  were  all  that  we  possessed  to  aid  us  in  the 
struggle.  On  the  other  hand,  the  winter  marshalled  all 
her  forces,  the  wind,  the  hail,  frost,  snow,  and  rain,  and  it 
was  against  these  that  we  had  to  fight,  and  for  the  coming 
of  the  opposing  legions  we  waited  tensely  and  almost 
eagerly. 


232    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

But  the  north  played  a  wearing  game,  and  strove  to 
harry  us  out  with  suspense  before  thundering  down  upon 
us  with  her  cold  and  her  storm.  The  change  took  place 
slowly.  In  a  day  we  could  hardly  feel  it,  in  a  week  some- 
thing intangible  and  subtle,  something  which  could  not 
be  denned,  had  crept  into  our  lives.  We  felt  the  change, 
but  could  not  localise  it.  Our  spirits  sank  under  the 
uncertainty  of  the  waiting  days,  but  still  the  wild  held 
her  hand.  The  bells  of  the  heather  hung  from  their  stems 
languidly  and  motionless,  stripped  of  all  their  summer 
charm,  but  lacking  little  of  the  hue  of  summer.  Even 
yet  the  foam-flecked  waters  dropped  over  the  cliffs  silently 
as  figures  that  move  in  a  dream.  When  we  gathered 
together  and  ate  our  midday  meal,  we  wrapped  our  coats 
around  our  shoulders,  whereas  before  we  had  sat  down 
without  them.  When  night  came  on  we  drew  nearer  to 
the  hot-plate,  and  when  we  turned  naked  into  bed  we  found 
that  the  blankets  were  colder  than  usual.  Only  thus  did 
the  change  affect  us  for  a  while.  Then  the  cold  snap  came 
suddenly  and  wildly. 

The  plaintive  sunset  waned  into  a  sickly  haze  one 
evening,  and  when  the  night  slipped  upwards  to  the  moun- 
tain peaks  never  a  star  came  out  into  the  vastness  of  the 
high  heavens.  Next  morning  we  had  to  thaw  the  door 
of  our  shack  out  of  the  muck  into  which  it  was  frozen 
during  the  night.  Outside  the  snow  had  fallen  heavily 
on  the  ground,  and  the  virgin  granaries  of  winter  had  been 
emptied  on  the  face  of  the  world. 

Unkempt,  ragged,  and  dispirited,  we  slunk  to  our  toil, 
the  snow  falling  on  our  shoulders  and  forcing  its  way 
insistently  through  our  worn  and  battered  bluchers.  The 
cuttings  were  full  of  slush  to  the  brim,  and  we  had  to  grope 
through  them  with  our  hands  until  we  found  the  jumpers 
and  hammers  at  the  bottom.  These  we  held  under  our 
coats  until  the  heat  of  our  bodies  warmed  them,  then  we 
went  on  with  our  toil. 


WINTER  233 

At  intervals  during  the  day  the  winds  of  the  mountain 
put  their  heads  together  and  swept  a  whirlstorm  of  snow 
down  upon  us,  wetting  each  man  to  the  pelt.  Our  tools 
froze  until  the  hands  that  gripped  them  were  scarred  as 
if  by  red-hot  spits.  We  shook  uncertain  over  our  toil, 
our  sodden  clothes  scalding  and  itching  the  skin  with 
every  movement  of  the  swinging  hammers.  Near  at  hand 
the  lean  derrick  jibs  whirled  on  their  pivots  like  spectres 
of  some  ghoulish  carnival,  and  the  muck-barrows  crunched 
backwards  and  forwards,  all  their  dirt  and  rust  hidden  in 
woolly  mantles  of  snow.  Hither  and  thither  the  little 
black  figures  of  the  workers  moved  across  the  waste  of 
whiteness  like  shadows  on  a  lime-washed  wall.  Their 
breath  steamed  out  on  the  air  and  disappeared  in  space 
like  the  evanescent  and  fragile  vapour  of  frying  mush- 
rooms. 

"  On  a  day  like  this  a  man  could  hardly  keep  warm  on 
the  red-hot  hearth  of  hell  !  "  Moleskin  remarked  at  one 
time,  when  the  snow  whirled  around  the  cutting,  causing 
us  to  gasp  with  every  fiercely-taken  breath. 

"  Ye'll  have  a  heat  on  the  same  hearthstone  some 
day,"  answered  Red  Billy,  who  held  a  broken  lath  in 
one  mittened  hand,  while  he  whittled  away  with  his  eternal 
clasp-knife. 

When  night  came  on  we  crouched  around  the  hot-plate 
and  told  stories  of  bygone  winters,  when  men  dropped 
frozen  stiff  in  the  trenches  where  they  laboured.  A  few 
tried  to  gamble  near  the  door,  but  the  wind  that  cut 
through  the  chinks  of  the  walls  chased  them  to  the  fire. 
Moleskin  told  the  story  of  his  first  meeting  with  me  on  the 
Paisley  toll-road,  and  suddenly  I  realised  that  I  was 
growing  old.  It  was  now  some  years  since  that  meeting 
took  place,  and  even  then  I  was  a  man,  unaided  and  alone, 
fighting  the  great  struggle  of  existence.  I  capped  Mole- 
skin's story  with  the  account  of  Mick  Deehan's  death  on 


234    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

the  six-foot  way.  Afterwards  the  men  talked  loudly  of 
many  adventures.  Long  lonely  shifts  were  spoken  of, 
nights  and  days  when  the  sweat  turned  to  ice  on  the 
eyelashes,  when  the  cold  nipped  to  the  bone  and  chilled 
the  workers  at  their  labours.  One  man  slipped  off  the 
snow-covered  gang-plank  and  fell  like  a  rock  forty  feet 
through  space. 

"  Flattened  out  like  a  jelly-fish  on  the  groun'  he  was," 
said  Clancy,  who  told  the  story. 

Red  Billy,  who  worked  on  the  railway  line  in  his  younger 
days,  gave  an  account  of  Mick  Cassidy's  death.  Mick  was 
sent  out  to  free  the  ice-locked  facing  points,  and  when 
they  were  closed  by  the  signalman,  Cassidy's  hand  got 
wedged  between  the  blades  and  the  rail. 

"  Held  like  a  louse  was  Cassidy,  until  the  train  threw 
him  clear,"  concluded  Billy,  adding  reflectively  that  "  he 
might  have  been  saved  if  he  had  had  somethin'  in  one 
hand  to  hack  the  other  hand  off  with." 

Joe  told  how  one  Ned  Farley  got  his  legs  wedged  be- 
tween the  planks  of  a  mason's  scaffold  and  hung  there 
head  downwards  for  three"  hours.  When  Farley  got  re- 
lieved he  was  a  raving  madman,  and  died  two  hours  after- 
wards. We  all  agreed  that  death  was  the  only  way  out 
in  a  case  like  that. 

Gahey  told  of  a  night's  doss  at  the  bottom  of  a  coal 
slip  in  a  railway  siding.  He  slept  there  with  three  other 
people,  two  men  and  a  woman.  As  the  woman  was  a  bad 
one  it  did  not  matter  very  much  to  anyone  where  she  slept. 
During  the  night  a  waggon  of  coal  was  suddenly  shot  down 
the  slip.  Gahey  got  clear,  leaving  his  thumb  with  the 
three  corpses  which  remained  behind. 

"  It  was  a  bad  endin',  even  lor  a  woman  like  that," 
someone  said. 

Outside  the  winds  of  the  night  scampered  madly,  whist- 
ling through  every  crevice  of  the  shack  and  threatening 


WINTER  235 

to  smash  all  its  timbers  to  pieces.  We  bent  closer  over 
the  hot-plate,  and  the  many  who  could  not  draw  near  to 
the  heat  scrambled  into  bed  and  sought  warmth  under 
the  meagre  blankets.  Suddenly  the  lamp  went  out,  and 
a  darkness  crept  into  the  corners  of  the  dwelling,  causing 
the  figures  of  my  mates  to  assume  fantastic  shapes  in  the 
gloom.  The  circle  around  the  hot-plate  drew  closer,  and 
long  lean  arms  were  stretched  out  towards  the  flames  and 
the  redness.  Seldom  may  a  man  have  the  chance  to  look 
on  hands  like  those  of  my  mates.  Fingers  were  missing 
from  many,  scraggy  scars  seaming  along  the  wrists  or 
across  the  palms  of  others  told  of  accidents  which  had 
taken  place  on  many  precarious  shifts.  The  faces  near 
me  were  those  of  ghouls  worn  out  in  some  unholy  mid- 
night revel.  Sunken  eyes  glared  balefully  in  the  dim 
unearthly  light  of  the  fire,  and  as  I  looked  at  them  a 
moment's  terror  settled  on  my  soul.  For  a  second  I  lived 
in  an  early  age,  and  my  mates  were  the  cave-dwellers  of 
an  older  world  than  mine.  In  the  darkness,  near  the  door, 
a  pipe  glowed  brightly  for  a  moment,  then  the  light  went 
suddenly  out  and  the  gloom  settled  again.  The  reaction 
came  when  Two-shift  Mullholland's  song,  The  Bold  Navvy 
Man,  was  sung  by  Clancy  of  the  Cross.  We  joined  lustily 
in  the  chorus,  and  the  roof  shook  with  the  thunder  of  our 
voices. 

"  THE   BOLD   NAVVY   MAN. 

"  I've  navvied  here  in  Scotland,  I've  navvied  in  the  south. 
Without  a  drink  to  cheer  me  or  a  crust  to  cross  me  mouth, 
I  fed  when  I  was  workin'  and  starved  when  out  on  tramp, 
And  the  stone  has  been  me  pillow  and  the  moon  above  me  lamp. 
I  have  drunk  me  share  and  over  when  I  was  flush  with  tin, 
For  the  drouth  without  was  nothin'  to  the  drouth  that  burned 

within  1 

And  where'er  I've  filled  me  billy  and  where'er  I've  drained  me  can, 
I've  done  it  like  a  navvy,  a  bold  navvy  man. 

A  bold  navvy  man, 

An  old  navvy  man, 
And  I've  done  me  graft  and  stuck  it  like  a  bold  navvy  man. 


236    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

"  I've  met  a  lot  of  women  and  I  liked  them  all  a  spell — 
They  drive  some  men  to  drinkin'  and  also  some  to  hell, 
But  I  have  never  met  her  yet,  the  woman  cute  who  can 
Learn  a  trick  to  Old  Nick  or  the  bold  navvy  man. 
Oh  !  the  sly  navvy  man, 
And  the  fly  navvy  man, 
Sure  a  woman's  always  runnin'  to  the  bold  navvy  man. 

"  I  do  not  care  for  ladies  grand  who  are  of  high  degree, 
A  winsome  wench  and  willin',  she  is  just  the  one  for  me, 
Drink  and  love  are  classed  as  sins,  as  mortal  sins  by  some, 
I'll  drink  and  drink  whene'er  I  can,  the  drouth  is  sure  to  come — 
And  I  will  love  till  lusty  life  runs  out  its  mortal  span, 
The  end  of  which  is  in  the  ditch  for  many  a  navvy  man. 

The  bold  navvy  man, 

The  old  navvy  man, 
Safe  in  a  ditch  with  heels  cocked  up,  so  dies  the  navvy  man. 

"  I've  splashed  a  thousand  models   red  and  raised  up  fiery  Cain 
From  Glasgow  down  to  Dover  Pier  and  back  that  road  again  ; 
I've  fought  me  man  for  hours  on  end,  stark  naked  to  the  buff 
And  me  and  him,  we  never  knew  when  we  had  got  enough. 
'Twas  skin  and  hair  all  flyin'  round  and  red  blood  up  and  out, 
And  me  or  him  could  hardly  tell  what  brought  the  fight  about. — 
'Tis  wenches,  work  and  fight  and  fun  and  drink  whene'er  I  can 
That  makes  the  life  of  stress  and  strife  as  suits  the  navvy  man  I 

"  Let  her  go,  boys  ;  let  her  go  now  !  "  roared  Clancy, 
rising  to  his  feet,  kicking  a  stray  frying-pan  and  causing 
it  to  clatter  across  the  shack.  "  All  together,  boys  ;  damn 
you,  all  together ! 

"  Then  hurrah  1  ev'ry  one 

For  the  bold  navvy  man, 
For  fun  and  fight  are  damned  all  right  for  any  navvy  man  1  " 

Even  old  Sandy  MacDonald  joined  in  the  chorus  with 
his  weak  and  querulous  voice.  The  winter  was  touching 
him  sharply,  and  he  was  worse  off  than  any  of  us.  Along 
with  the  cold  he  had  his  wasting  disease  to  battle  against, 
and  God  alone  knew  how  he  managed  to  work  along  with 
his  strong  and  lusty  mates  on  the  hammer  squad  at  Kin- 
lochleven.  Sandy  was  not  an  old  man,  but  what  with  the 
dry  cough  that  was  in  his  throat  and  the  shivers  of  cold 


WINTER  237 

that  came  over  him  after  a  long  sweaty  shift,  it  was  easily 
seen  that  he  had  not  many  months  to  live  in  this  world. 
He  looked  like  a  parcel  of  bones  covered  with  brown 
withered  parchment  and  set  in  the  form  of  a  man.  How 
life  could  remain  fretting  within  such  a  frame  as  his  was 
a  mystery  which  I  could  not  solve.  Almost  beyond  the 
effects  of  heat  or  cold,  the  cold  sweat  came  out  of  his 
skin  on  the  sweltering  warm  days,  and  when  the  winter 
came  along,  the  chilly  weather  hardly  made  him  colder 
than  he  was  by  nature.  His  cough  never  kept  silent  ; 
sometimes  it  was  like  the  bark  of  a  dog,  at  other  times 
it  seemed  as  if  it  would  carry  the  very  entrails  out  of 
the  man.  In  the  summer  he  spat  blood  with  it,  but  usually 
it  was  drier  than  the  east  wind. 

At  one  period  of  his  life  Sandy  had  had  a  home  and  a  wife 
away  down  in  Greenock  ;  but  in  those  days  he  was  a  strong 
lusty  fellow,  fit  to  pull  through  a  ten-hour  shift  without 
turning  a  hair.  One  winter's  morning  he  came  out  from 
the  sugar  refinery,  in  which  he  worked,  steaming  hot  from 
the  long  night's  labour,  and  then  the  cold  settled  on  him. 
Being  a  sober,  steady-going  man,  he  tried  to  work  as  long 
as  he  could  lift  his  arms,  but  in  the  end  he  had  to  give 
up  the  job  which  meant  life  and  home  to  him.  One  by 
one  his  little  bits  of  things  went  to  the  pawnshop  ;  but  all 
the  time  he  struggled  along  bravely,  trying  to  keep  the 
roof-tree  over  his  head  and  his  door  shut  against  the  lean 
spectre  of  hunger.  Between  the  four  bare  walls  of  the 
house  Sandy's  wife  died  one  day ;  and  this  caused  the 
man  to  break  up  his  home. 

He  came  to  Kinlochleven  at  the  heel  of  the  summer, 
and  because  he  mastered  his  cough  for  a  moment  when 
asking  for  a  job,  Red  Billy  Davis  started  him  on  the 
jumper  squad.  The  old  ganger,  despite  his  swearing 
habits  and  bluntness  of  discourse,  was  at  heart  a  very 
good-natured  fellow.  Sandy  stopped  with  us  for  a  long 


238    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

while  and  it  was  pitiful  to  see  him  labouring  there,  his 
old  bones  creaking  with  every  move  of  his  emaciated 
body,  and  the  cold  sweat  running  off  him  all  day.  He 
ate  very  little  ;  the  tame  robin  which  flitted  round  our 
shack  nearly  picked  as  much  from  off  the  floor.  He  had 
a  bunk  to  himself  at  the  comer  of  the  shack,  and  there  he 
coughed  out  the  long  sleepless  hours  of  the  night,  bereft 
of  all  hope,  lacking  sympathy  from  any  soul  sib  to  himself, 
and  praying  for  the  grave  which  would  end  all  his  troubles. 
For  days  at  a  stretch  he  lay  supine  in  his  bed,  unable  to 
move  hand  or  foot,  then,  when  a  moment's  relief  came  to 
him,  he  rose  and  started  on  his  shift  again,  crawling  out 
with  his  mates  like  a  wounded  animal. 

Winter  came  along  and  Sandy  got  no  better ;  he  could 
hardly  grow  worse  and  remain  alive.  Life  burned  in  him 
like  a  dying  candle  in  a  ruined  house,  and  he  waited  for 
the  end  of  the  great  martyrdom  patiently.  Still,  when 
he  could,  he  kept  working  day  in  and  day  out,  through 
cold  and  wet  and  storm.  Heaven  knows  that  it  was  not 
work  which  he  needed,  but  care,  rest,  and  sympathy.  All 
of  us  expressed  pity  for  the  man,  and  helped  him  in  little 
ways,  trying  to  make  life  easier  for  him.  Moleskin  usually 
made  gruel  for  him,  while  I  read  the  Oban  Times  to  the 
old  fellow  whenever  that  paper  came  into  the  shack.  One 
evening  as  I  read  something  concerning  the  Isle  of  Skye 
Sandy  burst  into  tears,  like  a  homesick  child. 

"  Man  !  I  would  like  tae  dee  there  awa'  in  the  Isle  of 
Skye,"  he  said  to  me  in  a  yearning  voice. 

"  Die,  you  damned  old  fool,  you  ?  "  exclaimed  Joe,  who 
happened  to  come  around  with  a  pot  of  gruel  just  at  that 
moment  and  overheard  Sandy's  remark.  "  You'll  not  die 
for  years  yet.  I  never  saw  you  lookin'  so  well  in  all  your 
life." 

"  It's  all  over  with  me,  Moleskin,"  said  poor  Sandy. 
"  It's  a  great  wonder  that  I've  stood  it  so  long,  but  just 


WINTER  239 

now  the  thocht  came  to  me  that  I'd  like  tae  dee  awa'  back 
in  my  own  place  in  the  Isle  of  Skye.  If  I  could  just  save 
as  muckle  siller  as  would  take  me  there,  I'd  be  content 
enough." 

"  Some  people  are  content  with  hellish  little  !  "  said 
Joe  angrily.  "  You've  got  to  buck  up,  man,  for  there's 
a  good  time  comin',  though  you'll  never — I  mean  that 
ev'rything  will  come  right  in  the  end.  We'll  see  that 
you  get  home  all  right,  you  fool,  you  !  " 

Joe  was  ashamed  to  find  himself  guilty  of  any  kind 
impulse,  and  he  endeavoured  to  hide  his  good  intentions 
behind  rough  words.  When  he  called  Sandy  an  old  fool 
Sandy's  eyes  sparkled,  and  he  got  into  such  good  humour 
that  he  joined  in  the  chorus  of  the  Bold  Navvy  Man  when 
Clancy,  who  is  now  known  as  Clancy  of  the  Cross,  gave 
bellow  to  Mullholland's  magnum  opus. 

Early  on  the  morning  of  the  next  day,  which  was 
pay-day,  Moleskin  was  busy  at  work  sounding  the  feelings 
of  the  party  towards  a  great  scheme  which  he  had  in 
mind  ;  and  while  waiting  at  the  pay-office  when  the  day's 
work  was  completed,  Joe  made  the  following  speech  to 
Red  Billy's  gang,  all  of  whom,  with  the  exception  of 
Sandy  MacDonald,  were  present. 

"  Boys,  Sandy  MacDonald  wants  to  go  home  and  die 
in  his  own  place,"  said  Joe,  weltering  into  his  subject  at 
once.  "  He'll  kick  the  bucket  soon,  for  he  has  the  look 
of  the  grave  in  his  eyes.  He  only  wants  as  much  tin  as 
will  take  him  home,  and  that  is  not  much  for  any  man 
to  ask,  is  it  ?  So  what  do  you  say,  boys,  to  a  collection 
for  him,  a  shillin'  a  man,  or  whatever  you  can  spare  ? 
Maybe  some  day,  when  you  turn  respectable,  one  of  you 
can  say  to  yourself,  '  I  once  kept  myself  from  gettin' 
drunk,  by  givin'  some  of  my  money  to  a  man  who 
needed  it  more  than  myself.'  Now,  just  look  at  him 
comin'  across  there." 


240    CHILDREN   OF  THE  DEAD  END 

We  looked  in  the  direction  of  Joe's  outstretched  finger 
and  saw  Sandy  coming  towards  us,  his  rags  fluttering 
around  him  like  the  duds  of  a  Michaelmas  scarecrow. 

"  Isn't  he  a  pitiful  sight !  "  Moleskin  went  on.  "He 
looks  like  the  Angel  of  Death  out  on  the  prowl !  It's  a 
God's  charity  to  help  a  man  like  Sandy  and  make  him 
happy  as  we  are  ourselves.  We  are  at  home  here  ;  he 
is  not.  So  it  is  up  to  us  to  help  him  out  of  the  place. 
Boys,  listen  to  me  !  "  Moleskin's  voice  sank  into  an  intense 
whisper.  "  If  every  damned  man  of  you  don't  pay  a 
shillin'  into  this  collection  I'll  look  for  the  man  that 
doesn't,  and  I'll  knuckle  his  ribs  until  he  pays  for  booze 
for  ev'ry  man  in  Billy's  shack,  by  God  !  I  will." 

Everyone  paid  up  decently,  and  on  behalf  of  the  gang  I 
was  asked  to  present  the  sum  of  three  pounds  fifteen 
shillings  to  Sandy  MacDonald.  Sandy  began  to  cry  like 
a  baby  when  he  got  the  money  into  his  hands,  and  every 
man  in  the  job  called  out  involuntarily :  "  Oh  !  you  old 
fool,  you  !  " 

Pay-day  was  on  Saturday.  On  Monday  morning  Sandy 
intended  starting  out  on  his  journey  home.  All  Saturday 
night  he  coughed  out  the  long  hours  of  the  darkness,  but 
in  the  morning  he  looked  fit  and  well. 

"  You'll  come  through  it,  you  fool !  "  said  Moleskin. 
"  I'll  be  dead  myself  afore  you." 

On  the  next  night  he  went  to  bed  early,  and  as  we  sat 
around  the  gaming  table  we  did  not  hear  the  racking 
cough  which  had  torn  at  the  man's  chest  for  months. 

"  He's  getting  better,"  we  all  said. 

"  Feeling  all  right,  Sandy  ?  "  I  asked,  as  I  turned  into 
bed. 

"  Mon  !  I'm  feelin'  fine  now,"  he  answered.  "  I'm  goin' 
to  sleep  well  to-night,  and  I'll  be  fit  for  the  journey  in  the 
morn." 

That  night  Sandy  left  us  for  good.    When  the  morning 


WINTER  241 

came  we  found  the  poor  wasted  fellow  lying  dead  in  his 
bunk,  his  eyes  wide  open,  his  hands  closed  tightly,  and  the 
long  finger-nails  cutting  into  the  flesh  of  the  palm.  The 
money  which  we  gave  to  the  man  was  bound  up  in  a  little 
leathern  purse  tied  round  his  neck  with  a  piece  of  string. 

The  man  was  very  light  and  it  was  an  easy  job  to 
carry  him  in  the  little  black  box  and  place  him  in  his 
home  below  the  red  earth  of  Kinlochleven.  The  question 
as  to  what  should  be  done  with  the  money  arose  later.  I 
suggested  that  it  should  be  used  in  buying  a  little  cross  for 
Sandy's  grave. 

"  If  the  dead  man  wants  a  cross  he  can  have  one,"  said 
Moleskin  Joe.  And  because  of  what  he  said  and  because 
it  was  more  to  our  liking,  we  put  the  money  up  as  a  stake 
on  the  gaming  table.  Clancy  won  the  pile,  because  his 
luck  was  good  on  the  night  of  the  game. 

That  is  our  reason  for  calling  him  Clancy  of  the  Cross 
ever  since. 

The  winter  rioted  on  its  way.  Snow,  rain,  and  wind 
whirled  around  us  in  the  cutting,  and  wet  us  to  the  bone. 
It  was  a  difficult  feat  to  close  our  hands  tightly  over  the 
hammers  with  which  we  took  uncertain  aim  at  the  drill 
heads  and  jumper  ends.  The  drill  holder  cowered  on  his 
seat  and  feared  for  the  moment  when  an  erring  hammer 
might  fly  clear  and  finish  his  labours  for  ever.  Hourly 
our  tempers  grew  worse,  each  movement  of  the  body 
caused  annoyance  and  discomfort,  and  we  quarrelled  over 
the  most  trivial  matters.  Red  Billy  cursed  every  man 
in  turn  and  all  in  general,  until  big  Jim  Maloney  lost  his 
temper  completely  and  struck  the  ganger  on  the  jaw  with 
his  fist,  knocking  him  senseless  into  a  snowdrift. 

That  night  Maloney  was  handed  his  lying  time  and  told 
to  slide.  He  padded  from  Kinlochleven  in  the  darkness, 
and  I  have  never  seen  him  since  then.  He  must  have 
died  on  the  journey.  No  man  could  cross  those  mountains 

B 


242    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

in  the  darkness  of  mid-winter  and  in  the  teeth  of  a  snow- 
storm. 

Some  time  afterwards  the  copy  of  a  Glasgow  newspaper, 
either  the  Evening  Times  or  News  (I  now  forget  which), 
came  into  our  shack  wrapped  around  some  provisions, 
and  in  the  paper  I  read  a  paragraph  concerning  the  dis- 
covery of  a  dead  body  on  the  mountains  of  Argyllshire. 
While  looking  after  sheep  a  shepherd  came  on  the  corpse 
of  a  man  that  lay  rotting  in  a  thawing  snowdrift.  Around 
the  remains  a  large  number  of  half-burnt  matches  were 
picked  up,  and  it  was  supposed  that  the  poor  fellow  had 
tried  to  keep  himself  warm  by  their  feeble  flames  in  the 
last  dreadful  hours.  Nobody  identified  him,  but  the 
paper  stated  that  he  was  presumably  a  navvy  who  lost 
his  way  on  a  journey  to  or  from  the  big  waterworks  of 
Kinlochleven. 

As  for  myself,  I  am  quite  certain  that  it  was  that  of  big 
Jim  Maloney.  No  man  could  survive  a  blizzard  on  the 
houseless  hills,  and  big  Jim  Maloney  never  appeared  in 
model  or  shack  afterwards. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

THE  GREAT  EXODUS 

'We'll  lift  our  time  and  go,  lads, 

The  long  road  lies  before, 
The  places  that  we  know,  lads, 

Will  know  our  like  no  more. 
Foot  forth  !  the  last  bob's  paid  out, 

Some  see  their  last  shift  through, 
But  the  men  who  are  not  played  out 

Have  other  jobs  to  do." 

— From  Tramp  Navvies. 

9F    •    ^WAS  towards  the  close  of  a  fine  day  on  the 

%          following  summer  that  we  were  at  work  in 

JL         the  dead  end  of  a  cutting,  Moleskin  and  I, 

when  I,  who  had  been  musing  on  the  quickly  passing  years, 

turned  to  Moleskin  and  quoted  a  line  from  the  Bible. 

"  Our  years  pass  like  a  tale  that  is  told,"  I  said. 

"  Like  a  tale  that  is  told  damned  bad,"  answered  my 
mate,  picking  stray  crumbs  of  tobacco  from  his  waistcoat 
pocket  and  stuffing  them  into  the  heel  of  his  pipe.  "  It's 
a  strange  world,  Flynn.  Here  to-day,  gone  to-morrow ; 
always  waitin'  for  a  good  time  comin'  and  knowin'  that  it 
will  never  come.  We  work  with  one  mate  this  evenin', 
we  beg  for  crumbs  with  another  on  the  mornin'  after. 
It's  a  bad  life  ours,  and  a  poor  one,  when  I  come  to  think 
of  it,  Flynn." 

"It  is  all  that,"  I  assented  heartily. 

"  Look  at  me  !  "  said  Joe,  clenching  his  fists  and  squaring 
his  shoulders.  "  I  must  be  close  on  forty  years,  maybe  on 
the  graveyard  side  of  it,  for  all  I  know.  I've  horsed  it 


244    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

since  ever  I  can  mind ;  I've  worked  like  a  mule  for  years, 
and  what  have  I  to  show  for  it  all  to-day,  matey  ?  Not 
the  price  of  an  ounce  of  tobacco  !  A  midsummer  scare- 
crow wouldn't  wear  the  duds  that  I've  to  wrap  around 
my  hide  !  A  cockle-picker  that  has  no  property  only  when 
the  tide  is  out  is  as  rich  as  I  am.  Not  the  price  of  an 
ounce  of  tobacco  !  There  is  something  wrong  with  men 
like  us,  surely,  when  we're  treated  like  swine  in  a  sty  for 
all  the  years  of  our  life.  It's  not  so  bad  here,  but  it's  in 
the  big  towns  that  a  man  can  feel  it  most.  No  person  cares 
for  the  likes  of  us,  Flynn.  I've  worked  nearly  ev'ry- 
where ;  I've  helped  to  build  bridges,  dams,  houses,  ay, 
and  towns  !  When  they  were  finished,  what  happened  ? 
Was  it  for  us — the  men  who  did  the  buildin' — to  live  in 
the  homes  that  we  built,  or  walk  through  the  streets  that 
we  laid  down  ?  No  earthly  chance  of  that !  It  was  always, 
'  Slide !  we  don't  need  you  any  more,'  and  then  a  man  like 
me,  as  helped  to  build  a  thousand  houses  big  as  castles, 
was  hellish  glad  to  get  the  shelter  of  a  ten-acre  field  and  a 
shut  gate  between  me  and  the  winds  of  night.  I've  spent 
all  my  money,  have  I  ?  It's  bloomin'  easy  to  spend  all 
that  fellows  like  us  can  earn.  When  I  was  in  London  I 
saw  a  lady  spend  as  much  on  fur  to  decorate  her  carcase 
with  as  would  keep  me  in  beer  and  tobacco  for  all  the  rest 
of  my  life.  And  that  same  lady  would  decorate  a  dog  in 
ribbons  and  fol-the-dols,  and  she  wouldn't  give  me  the 
smell  of  a  crust  when  I  asked  her  for  a  mouthful  of  bread. 
What  could  you  expect  from  a  woman  who  wears  the 
furry  hide  of  some  animal  round  her  neck,  anyhow  ?  We 
are  not  thought  as  much  of  as  dogs,  Flynn.  By  God ! 
them  rich  buckos  do  eat  an  awful  lot.  Many  a  time  I 
crept  up  to  a  window  just  to  see  them  gorgin'  themselves." 

"  I  have  often  done  the  same  kind  of  thing,"  I  said. 

"  Most  men  do,"  answered  Joe.  "  You've  heard  of 
old  Moses  goin'  up  the  hill  to  have  a  bit  peep  at  the 


THE  GREAT  EXODUS  245 

Promist  Land.  He  was  just  like  me  and  you,  Flynn, 
wantin'  to  have  a  peep  at  the  things  which  he'd  never 
lay  his  claws  on." 

"  Those  women  who  sit  half-naked  at  the  table  have 
big  appetites,"  I  said. 

"  They're  all  gab  and  guts,  like  young  crows,"  said 
Moleskin.  "  And  they  think  more  of  their  dogs  than 
they  do  of  men  like  me  and  you.  I'm  an  Antichrist !  " 

"  A  what  ?  " 

"  One  of  them  sort  of  fellows  as  throws  bombs  at  kings." 

"  You  mean  an  Anarchist." 

"  Well,  whatever  they  are,  I'm  one.  What  is  the  good 
of  kings,  of  fine-feathered  ladies,  of  churches,  of  anything 
in  the  country,  to  men  like  me  and  you  ?  One  time,  'twas 
when  I  started  trampin'  about,  I  met  an  old  man  on  the 
road  and  we  mucked  about,  the  two  of  us  as  mates,  for 
months  afterwards.  One  night  in  the  winter  time,  as  we 
were  sleepin'  under  a  hedge,  the  old  fellow  got  sick,  and  he 
began  to  turn  over  and  over  on  his  beddin'  of  frost  and 
his  blankets  of  snow,  which  was  not  the  best  place  to  put 
a  sick  man,  as  you  know  yourself.  As  the  night  wore  on,  he 
got  worse  and  worse.  I  tried  to  do  the  best  I  could  for 
the  old  fellow,  gave  him  my  muffler  and  my  coat,  but  the 
pains  in  his  guts  was  so  much  that  I  couldn't  hardly  pre- 
vent him  from  rollin'  along  the  ground  on  his  stomach. 
He  would  do  any  thin'  just  to  take  his  mind  away  from  the 
pain  that  he  was  sufferin'.  At  last  I  got  him  to  rise  and 
walk,  and  we  trudged  along  till  we  came  to  a  house  by 
the  roadside.  Twas  nearly  midnight  and  there  was  a 
light  in  one  of  the  windows,  so  I  thought  that  I  would 
call  at  the  door  and  ask  for  a  bit  of  help.  My  mate,  who 
bucked  up  somewhat  when  we  were  walkin',  got  suddenly 
worse  again,  and  fell  against  the  gatepost  near  beside  the 
road,  and  stuck  there  as  if  glued  on  to  the  thing.  I  left 
him  by  himself  and  went  up  to  the  door  and  knocked. 


246    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

A  man  drew  the  bolts  and  looked  out  at  me.  He  had 
his  collar  on  back  to  front,  so  I  knew  that  he  was  a  clergy- 
man. 

"  '  What  do  you  want  ?  '  he  asked. 

"  '  My  mate's  dyin'  on  your  gatepost/  I  said. 

" '  Then  you'd  better  take  him  away  from  here/  said 
the  parson. 

"  '  But  he  wants  help/  I  said.  '  He  can't  go  a  step 
further,  and  if  you  could  give  me  a  drop  of  brandy ' 

"  I  didn't  get  any  further  with  my  story.  The  fellow 
whistled  for  his  dog,  and  a  big  black  animal  came  boundin' 
through  the  passage  and  started  snarlin'  when  it  saw  me 
standin'  there  in  the  doorway. 

"  '  Now,  you  get  away  from  here/  said  the  clergyman 
to  me. 

"  '  My  mate's  dyin'/  I  said. 

"  '  Seize  him/  said  the  man  to  the  dog." 

"  What  a  scoundrel  that  man  must  have  been,"  I  said, 
interrupting  Moleskin  in  the  midst  of  his  story. 

"  He  was  only  a  human  being,  and  that's  about  as  bad 
as  a  man  can  be,"  said  Joe.  "  Anyway,  he  put  the  dog 
on  me  and  the  animal  bounded  straight  at  the  thick  of 
my  leg,  but  that  animal  didn't  know  that  it  was  up  against 
Moleskin  Joe.  I  caught  hold  of  the  dog  by  the  throat  and 
twisted  its  throttle  until  it  snapped  like  a  dry  stick.  Then 
I  lifted  the  dead  thing  up  in  my  arms  and  threw  it  right 
into  the  face  of  the  man  who  was  standin'  in  the 
hallway. 

"  '  Take  that  an'  be  thankful  that  the  worst  dog  of  the 
two  of  you  is  not  dead/  I  shouted.  '  And  when  it  comes 
to  a  time  that  sees  you  hangin'  on  the  lower  cross-bars 
of  the  gates  of  heaven,  waitin'  till  you  get  in,  may  you 
be  kept  there  till  I  give  the  word  for  you  to  pass  through/ 

"  My  mate  was  still  hangin'  on  the  gatepost  when  I 
came  back,  and  he  was  as  dead  as  a  maggot.  I  could  do 


THE  GREAT  EXODUS  247 

nothin'  for  a  dead  man,  so  I  went  on  my  own,  leavin' 
him  hangin'  there  like  a  dead  crow  in  a  turnip  field.  Next 
mornin'  a  cop  lifted  me  and  I  was  charged  with  assaultin' 
a  minister  and  killin'  his  dog.  I  got  three  months  hard, 
and  it  was  hard  to  tell  whether  for  hittin'  the  man  or 
killin'  the  dog.  Anyway,  the  fellow  got  free,  although 
he  allowed  a  man  to  die  at  his  own  doorstep.  I  never 
liked  clergy  before,  and  I  hate  them  ever  since ;  but  I 
know,  as  you  know,  that  it's  not  for  the  likes  of  you  and 
me  that  they  work  for." 

"  Time  to  stop  lookin'  at  your  work,  boys  !  "  inter- 
rupted Red  Billy,  as  he  approached  us,  carrying  his  watch 
and  eternal  clasp-knife  in  his  hands.  "  Be  damned  to  you, 
you  could  look  at  your  work  all  day,  you  love  it  so  much. 
But  when  you  go  to  the  pay-office  to-night,  you'll  hear 
a  word  or  two  that  will  do  you  good,  you  will !  " 

On  arriving  at  the  pay-office,  every  man  in  turn  was 
handed  his  lying  time  and  told  that  his  services  were  no 
longer  required.  Red  Billy  passed  the  money  out  through 
the  window  of  the  shack  which  served  as  money-box. 
Moleskin  came  after  me,  and  he  carefully  counted  the 
money  handed  to  him. 

"  Half-a-crown  wrong  in  your  tally,  old  cock,"  he  said 
to  Red  Billy.  "  Fork  out  the  extra  two-and-a-tanner, 
you  unsanctified,  chicken-chested  cheat.  I  didn't  think 
that  it  was  in  your  carcase  to  cheat  a  man  of  his  lyin' 
time." 

"  No  cheatin',"  said  BiUy. 

"  Well,  what  the  hell !  " 

"  No  cheatin',"  interrupted  Billy. 

"  I'm  two-and-a-tanner  short " 

"  No  cheatin',"  piped  Billy  maliciously. 

"  I'll  burst  your  nut,  you  parrot-faced,  gawky  son  of 
a  Pontius  Pilate,  if  you  don't  fork  out  my  full  lyin'  time  !  " 
roared  Moleskin. 


248    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

"  I  always  charge  two-and-six  for  a  pair  of  boots  and  the 
same  for  a  clasp-knife,"  said  the  ganger. 

Billy  had  a  long  memory,  and  Joe  was  cornered  and 
crestfallen.  I,  myself,  had  almost  forgotten  about  the 
knife  which  Joe  had  lifted  from  Red  Billy  on  the  morning 
of  our  arrival  in  Kinlochleven,  and  Joe  had  almost  lost 
memory  of  it  as  well. 

"  I  had  the  best  of  that  bargain,"  Red  Billy  went  on 
sweetly.  "  The  knife  was  on  its  last  legs  and  I  just  in- 
tended to  buy  a  new  one.  A  half-crown  was  a  good  penny 
for  a  man  like  me  to  spend,  so  I  thought  that  if  Moleskin 
paid  for  it,  kind  of  quiet  like,  it  would  be  a  very  nice  thing 
for  me — a — very — nice — thing — for — me." 

"  I  grant  that  you  have  the  best  of  me  this  time,"  said 
Moleskin,  and  a  smile  passed  over  his  face.  "  But  my 
turn  will  come  next,  you  know.  I  wouldn't  like  to  do 
you  any  serious  harm,  Billy,  but  I  must  get  my  own 
back.  I  have  only  to  look  for  that  old  woman  of  yours 
and  send  her  after  you.  I  can  get  her  address  easy  enough, 
and  I  have  plenty  of  time  to  look  for  it.  You  don't  care 
much  for  your  old  wife,  Billy,  do  you  ?  " 

Billy  made  no  answer.  It  was  rumoured  that  his  wife 
was  a  woman  with  a  tongue  and  a  temper,  and  that  Billy 
feared  her  and  spent  part  of  his  time  in  endeavouring 
to  get  out  of  her  way.  Joe  was  working  upon  this  rumour 
now,  and  the  ganger  began  to  look  uncomfortable. 

"  Of  course,  if  I  get  my  half-crown  and  another  to  boot, 
I'll  not  trouble  to  look  for  the  woman,"  said  Joe.  "  It 
won't  be  hard  to  find  her.  She'll  have  gone  back  to  her 
own  people,  and  it  is  well  known  that  they  belong  to 
Paisley.  Her  brothers  are  all  fightin'  men,  and  ready  to 
maul  the  man  that  didn't  play  fairly  with  their  own  blood 
relations.  By  God  !  they'll  give  you  a  maulin',  Billy, 
when  I  send  them  after  you.  They'll  come  up  here,  and 
further,  until  they  find  you  out.  You'll  have  to  shank  it 


THE  GREAT  EXODUS  249 

when  they  come,  run  like  hell,  in  fact,  and  lose  your  job 
and  your  lyin'  time.  If  you  give  me  seven-and-six  I'll 
not  give  you  away  !  " 

"  I'll  give  you  the  half-crown,"  said  Billy. 

"I'm  losin'  my  time  talkin'  to  you,"  said  Joe  pleasantly, 
and  he  pulled  out  his  watch.  "  Every  minute  I  stop  here 
I'm  goin'  to  put  my  charge  up  a  shillin'." 

"  I'll  give  you  the  five  shillin's  if  you  go  away 
and  keep  clear  of  Paisley,"  growled  the  ganger.  "  Five 
shillin's !  you  damned  cheat !  Are  you  not  content 
with  that  ?  " 

"  One  minute,"  said  Joe  solemnly.    "  Eight-and-six." 

"  My  God  !  "  Billy  cried.  "  You're  goin'  to  rob  me. 
I'll  give  you  the  seven-and-six." 

We  were  heartily  enjoying  it.  There  were  over  one 
hundred  men  looking  on,  and  Joe,  now  master  of  the 
strained  situation,  kept  looking  steadfastly  at  his  watch, 
as  if  nothing  else  in  the  world  mattered. 

"  Two  minutes ;  nine-and-six,"  he  said  at  the  end  of 
the  stated  time. 

"  Here's  your  nine-and-six  !  "  roared  Billy,  passing  some 
silver  coins  through  the  grating.  "  Here,  take  it  and 
be  damned  to  you  !  " 

Joe  put  the  money  in  his  pocket,  cast  a  benevolent 
glance  at  Billy,  and  my  mate  and  I  went  out  from  Kin- 
lochleven.  We  did  not  go  into  the  shack  which  we  had 
occupied  for  over  a  year.  There  was  nothing  there  be- 
longing to  us,  all  our  property  was  on  our  backs  or  in  our 
pockets,  so  we  turned  away  straight  from  the  pay-office 
and  took  to  the  road  again. 

The  great  procession  filed  down  the  hillside.  Hundreds 
of  men  had  been  paid  off  on  the  same  evening.  The  job 
was  nearly  completed,  and  only  a  few  hands  were  required 
to  finish  the  remainder  of  the  labour.  Some  men  decided 
to  stay,  but  a  great  longing  took  possession  of  them  at 


250    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

the  last  moment,  and  they  followed  those  who  were  already 
on  the  road. 

Civilisation  again !  Away  behind  the  hunchbacked 
mountains  the  sunset  flamed  in  all  its  colours.  Islands 
of  jasper  were  enshrined  in  lakes  of  turquoise,  rivers  of 
blood  flowed  through  far-spreading  plains  of  dark  cumulus 
that  were  enshrouded  in  the  spell  of  eternal  silence.  Over- 
head the  blue  was  of  the  deepest,  save  where  one  stray 
cloud  blushed  to  find  itself  alone  in  the  vastness  of  the 
high  heavens. 

We  were  an  army  of  scarecrows,  ragged,  unkempt  scare 
crows  of  civilisation.  We  came  down  from  Kinlochleven 
in  the  evening  with  the  glow  of  the  setting  sun  full  in 
our  faces,  and  never  have  I  looked  on  an  array  of  men  such 
as  we  were.  Some  were  old,  lame  men  who  might  not 
live  until  they  obtained  their  next  job,  and  who  would 
surely  drop  at  their  post  when  they  obtained  it.  These 
were  the  veterans  of  labour,  crawling  along  limply  in  the 
rear,  staggering  over  boulders  and  hillocks,  men  who  were 
wasted  in  the  long  struggle  and  who  were  now  bound  for 
a  new  place — a  place  where  a  man  might  die.  They  had 
built  their  last  town  and  were  no  longer  wanted  there  or 
anywhere  else.  Strong  lusty  fellows  like  myself  took  the 
lead.  We  possessed  hale  and  supple  limbs,  and  a  mile  or 
two  of  a  journey  meant  very  little  to  any  of  us. 

Now  and  again  I  looked  behind  at  the  followers.  The 
great  army  spread  out  in  the  centre  and  tailed  away 
towards  the  end.  A  man  at  the  rear  sat  down  and  took 
a  stone  out  of  his  boot.  His  comrades  helped  him  to  his 
feet  when  he  had  finished  his  task.  He  was  a  very  old, 
decrepit,  and  weary  man  ;  the  look  of  death  was  in  his 
eyes,  but  he  wanted  to  walk  on.  Maybe  he  would  sit 
down  again  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain.  Maybe  he  would 
sleep  there,  for  further  down  the  night  breezes  were  warmer, 
much  warmer,  than  the  cold  winds  on  the  hillside.  Probably 


THE  GREAT  EXODUS  251 

the  old  fellow  thought  of  these  things  as  he  tumbled  down 
the  face  of  the  mountain  ;  and  perhaps  he  knew  that  death 
was  waiting  for  him  at  the  bottom. 

Some  sang  as  they  journeyed  along.  They  sang  about 
love,  about  drink,  about  women  and  gambling.  Most  of 
us  joined  in  the  singing.  Maybe  the  man  at  the  rear  sang 
none,  but  we  could  not  hear  him  if  he  did,  he  was  so  far 
behind. 

The  sun  paled  out  and  hid  behind  a  hump  of  the  moun- 
tain. Overhead  a  few  stars  twinkled  mockingly.  In  the 
distance  the  streams  could  be  heard  falling  over  the  cliffs. 
Still  the  mountain  vomited  out  the  human  throng,  and  over 
all  the  darkness  of  the  night  settled  slowly. 

What  did  the  men  think  of  as  they  walked  down  from 
Kinlochleven  ?  It  is  hard  to  say,  for  the  inmost  thoughts 
of  a  most  intimate  friend  are  hidden  from  us,  for  they  lack 
expression  and  cannot  be  put  into  words.  As  to  myself,  I 
found  that  my  thoughts  were  running  back  to  Norah  Ryan 
and  the  evenings  we  spent  on  the  shores  of  the  Clyde.  I 
was  looking  backward ;  I  had  no  thoughts,  no  plans,  for 
the  future. 

I  was  now  almost  careless  of  life,  indifferent  towards 
fortune,  and  the  dreams  of  youth  had  given  place  to  a  placid 
acceptance  of  stern  realities.  On  the  way  up  to  the  hills  I 
had  longed  for  things  beyond  my  reach — wealth,  comfort, 
and  the  love  of  fair  women.  But  these  longings  had  now 
given  place  to  an  almost  unchanging  calm,  an  indifference 
towards  women,  and  an  almost  stoical  outlook  on  the 
things  that  are.  Nothing  was  to  me  pleasurable,  nothing 
made  me  sad.  During  the  last  months  in  Kinlochleven  I 
had  very  little  desire  for  drink  or  cards,  but  true  to  custom 
I  gave  up  neither.  With  no  man  except  Moleskin  did  I 
exchange  confidences,  and  even  these  were  of  the  very 
slightest.  To  the  rest  of  my  mates  I  was  always  the  same, 
except  perhaps  in  the  whisky  saloon  or  in  a  fight.  They 


252    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

thought  me  very  strong  in  person  and  in  character,  but 
when  I  pried  deeply  into  my  own  nature  I  found  that  I 
was  full  of  vanity  and  weaknesses.  The  heat  of  a  good 
fire  after  a  hard  day's  work  caused  me  to  feel  happier ; 
hunger  made  me  sour,  a  good  meal  made  me  cheerful. 
One  day  I  was  fit  for  any  work  ;  the  next  day  I  was  lazy 
and  heedless,  and  at  times  I  so  little  resembled  myself  that  I 
might  be  taken  for  a  man  of  an  entirely  opposite  character. 
Still,  the  river  cannot  be  expected  to  take  on  the  same  form 
in  shine  as  in  shadow,  in  level  as  in  steep,  and  in  fall  as 
in  freshet.  I  am  a  creature  of  environment,  an  environ- 
ment that  is  eternally  changing.  Not  being  a  stone  or 
clod,  I  change  with  it.  I  was  a  man  of  many  humours, 
of  many  inconsistencies.  The  pain  of  a  corn  changed  my 
outlook  on  life.  Moleskin  himself  was  sometimes  disgusting 
in  my  sight ;  at  other  times  I  was  only  happy  in  his  com- 
pany. But  all  the  time  I  was  the  same  in  the  eyes  of  my 
mates,  stolid,  unsympathetic,  and  cold.  In  the  end  most 
of  my  moods  went,  and  although  I  had  mapped  out  no 
course  of  conduct,  I  settled  into  a  temperate  contentment, 
which,  though  far  removed  from  gladness,  had  no  con- 
nection with  melancholy. 

Since  I  came  to  Kinlochleven  I  had  not  looked  on  a 
woman,  and  the  thoughts  of  womankind  had  almost  en- 
tirely gone  from  my  mind.  With  the  rest  of  the  men  it 
was  the  same.  The  sexual  instinct  was  almost  dead  in 
them.  Women  were  merely  dreams  of  long  ago ;  they 
were  so  long  out  of  sight  that  the  desire  for  their  company 
had  almost  expired  in  every  man  of  us.  Still,  it  was  strange 
that  I  should  think  of  Norah  Ryan  as  I  trudged  down  the 
hillside  from  Kinlochleven. 

The  men  were  still  singing  out  their  songs,  and  Joe 
hummed  the  chorus  through  the  teeth  that  held  his  empty 
pipe  as  he  walked  along. 

Suddenly  the  sound  of  singing  died  and  Moleskin  ceased 


THE   GREAT  EXODUS  253 

his  bellowing  chorus.  A  great  silence  fell  on  the  party. 
The  nailed  shoes  rasping  on  the  hard  earth,  and  the  half- 
whispered  curse  of  some  falling  man  as  he  tripped  over  a 
hidden  boulder,  were  the,  only  sounds  that  could  be  heard 
in  the  darkness. 

And  down  the  face  of  the  mountain  the  ragged  army 
tramped  slowly  on. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

A  NEW  JOB 

"The  more  you  do,  the  more  you  get  to  do." 

— Cold  Clay  Philosophy. 

WHEN  we  arrived  in  Glasgow  I  parted  company 
with  Moleskin  Joe.  I  told  him  that  I  was 
going  to  work  on  the  railway  if  I  got  an 
opening,  but  my  mate  had  no  liking  for  a  job  where 
the  pay  could  be  only  lifted  once  a  fortnight ;  he  wanted 
his  sub.  every  second  day  at  least.  He  set  out  for  the 
town  of  Carlisle.  There  was  a  chance  of  getting  a  real 
job  there,  he  said. 

"  Mind  you,  if  there's  a  chance  goin'  for  another  man, 
I'll  let  you  know  about  it,"  he  added.  "  I  would  like  you 
to  come  and  work  along  with  me,  matey,  for  me  and  you 
get  on  well  together.  Keep  clear  of  women  and  always 
stand  up  to  your  man  until  he  knocks  you  out — that's  if 
you're  gettin'  the  worst  of  the  fight." 

We  parted  without  a  handshake,  as  is  the  custom  with 
us  navvy  men.  He  never  wrote  to  me,  for  I  had  no  address 
when  he  left,  and  he  did  not  know  the  exact  model  to 
which  he  was  going.  Once  out  of  each  other's  sight,  the 
link  that  bound  us  together  was  broken,  and  being  home- 
less men  we  could  not  correspond.  Perhaps  we  would 
never  meet  again. 

I  got  a  job  on  the  railway  and  obtained  lodgings  in  a 
dismal  and  crooked  street,  which  was  a  den  of  disfigured 
children  and  a  hothouse  of  precocious  passion,  in  the  south 


A  NEW  JOB  255 

side  of  Glasgow.  The  landlady  was  an  Irishwoman, 
bearded  like  a  man,  and  the  mother  of  several  children. 
When  indoors,  she  spent  most  of  her  time  feeding  one 
child,  while  swearing  like  a  carter  at  all  the  others.  We 
slept  in  the  one  room,  mother,  children  and  myself,  and 
all  through  the  night  the  children  yelled  like  cats  in  the 
moonshine.  The  house  was  alive  with  vermin.  The  land- 
lady's husband  was  a  sailor  who  went  out  on  ships  to 
foreign  parts  and  always  returned  drunk  from  his  voyages. 
When  at  home  he  remained  drunk  all  the  time,  and  when 
he  lelt  again  he  was  as  drunk  as  he  could  hold.  I  had  no 
easy  job  to  put  up  with  him  at  first,  and  in  the  end  we 
quarrelled  and  fought.  He  accused  me  of  being  too  inumate 
with  his  wife  when  he  was  away  from  home.  I  told  him 
that  my  taste  was  not  so  utterly  bad,  for  indeed  1  had  no 
inclination  towards  any  woman,  let  alone  the  hairy  and 
unkempt  person  who  was  my  landlady.  1  struck  out  for 
him  on  the  stair  head.  Three  flights  of  stairs  led  from  the 
door  of  the  house  down  to  the  ground  floor.  I  threw  the 
sailor  down  the  last  flight  bodily  and  headlong  ;  he  threw 
me  down  the  middle  flight.  Following  the  last  throw,  he 
would  not  face  up  again,  and  I  had  won  the  fight.  After- 
wards the  woman  came  to  her  husband's  aid.  She  scratched 
my  face  with  her  fingers  and  tore  at  my  hair,  clawing  like 
an  angry  cat.  I  did  not  like  to  strike  her  back,  so  i  left 
her  there  with  her  drunken  sailor  and  went  out  to  the 
streets.  Having  no  money  I  slept  until  morning  beside  a 
capstan  on  Glasgow  quay.  Next  day  I  obtained  lodgings 
in  Moran's  model,  and  I  stopped  there  until  i  went  off  to 
London  eleven  months  afterwards. 

I  did  not  find  much  pleasure  in  the  company  of  my 
new  railway  mates.  They  were  a  spineless  and  ignorant 
crowd  of  men,  who  believed  in  clergycrait,  psalm-singing, 
and  hymn-hooting.  Not  one  01  them  had  the  pluck  to 
raise  his  hands  in  a  stand-up  fight,  or  his  voice  in  protest 


256    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

against  the  conditions  under  which  he  laboured.  Most 
of  them  raised  their  caps  to  the  overseers  who  controlled 
their  starved  bodies  and  to  the  clergy  who  controlled  their 
starved  souls.  They  had  no  rational  doctrine,  no  compre- 
hension of  a  just  God.  To  them  God  took  on  the  form 
of  a  monstrous  and  irritable  ganger  who  might  be  pacified 
by  prayers  instead  of  by  the  usual  dole  of  drink. 

Martin  Rudor  was  the  name  of  my  new  ganger.  He  was 
very  religious  and  belonged  to  the  Railway  Mission  (what- 
ever that  is).  He  read  tracts  at  his  work,  which  he  handed 
round  when  he  finished  perusing  them.  These  contained 
little  stories  about  the  engine-driver  who  had  taken  the 
wrong  turning,  or  the  signalman  who  operated  the  facing 
points  on  the  running  line  leading  to  hell.  Martin  took 
great  pleasure  in  these  stories,  and  he  was  an  earnest  sup- 
porter of  the  psalm-singing  enthusiasts  who  raised  a  sound 
of  devilry  by  night  in  the  back  streets  of  Glasgow.  Martin 
said  once  that  I  was  employed  on  the  permanent  way 
that  led  to  perdition.  I  caught  Martin  by  the  scruff  of 
the  neck  and  rubbed  his  face  on  the  slag.  He  never  thought 
it  proper  to  look  out  my  faults  afterwards.  Martin  ill- 
treated  his  wife,  and  she  left  him  in  the  end.  But  he  did 
not  mind ;  he  took  one  of  his  female  co-religionists  to  his 
bosom  and  kept  her  in  place  of  his  legal  wife,  and  seemed 
quite  well  pleased  with  the  change.  Meanwhile  he  sang 
hymns  in  the  street  whenever  he  got  two  friends  to  help 
and  one  to  listen  to  him. 

What  a  difference  between  these  men  and  my  devil- 
may-care  comrades  of  Kinlochleven.  I  looked  on  Martin 
Rudor  and  his  gang  with  inexpressible  contempt,  and  their 
talk  of  religion  was  a  source  of  almost  unendurable  torment. 
I  also  looked  upon  the  missions  with  disgust.  It  is  a 
paradox  to  pretend  that  the  thing  called  Christianity  was 
what  the  Carpenter  of  Galilee  lived  and  died  to  establish. 
The  Church  allows  a  criminal  commercial  system  to  con- 


A  NEW  JOB  257 

tinue,  and  wastes  its  time  trying  to  save  the  souls  of  the 
victims  of  that  system.  Christianity  preaches  contentment 
to  the  wage-slaves,  and  hob-nobs  with  the  slave  drivers  ; 
therefore,  the  Church  is  a  betrayer  of  the  people.  The 
Church  soothes  those  who  are  robbed  and  never  condemns 
the  robber,  who  is  usually  a  pillar  of  Christianity.  To  me 
the  Church  presents  something  unattainable,  which,  being 
out  of  harmony  with  my  spiritual  condition,  jars  rather 
than  soothes.  To  me  the  industrial  system  is  a  great 
fraud,  and  the  Church  which  does  not  condemn  it  is  un- 
faithful and  unjust  to  the  working  people.  I  detest  mis- 
sions, whether  organised' for  the  betterment  of  South  Sea 
Islanders  or  unshaven  navvies.  A  missionary  canvasses 
the  working  classes  for  their  souls  just  in  the  same  manner 
as  a  town  councillor  canvasses  them  for  their  votes. 

I  have  heard  of  workers'  missions,  railway  missions, 
navvies'  missions,  and  missions  to  poor  heathens,  but  I 
have  never  yet  heard  of  missions  for  the  uplifting  of 
M.P.'s,  or  for  the  betterment  of  stock  exchange  gamblers ; 
and  these  people  need  saving  grace  a  great  deal  more  than 
the  poor  untutored  working  men.  But  it  is  in  the  nature 
of  things  that  piety  should  preach  to  poverty  on  its  short- 
comings, and  forget  that  even  wealth  may  have  sins  of 
its  own.  Clergymen  dine  nowadays  with  the  gamblers 
who  rob  the  working  classes ;  Christ  used  the  lash  on 
the  gamblers  in  the  Temple. 

I  heard  no  more  of  Norah  Ryan.  I  longed  to  see  her, 
and  spent  hours  wandering  through  the  streets,  hoping 
that  I  would  meet  her  once  again.  The  old  passion  had 
come  back  to  me  ;  the  atmosphere  of  the  town  rekindled 
my  desire,  and,  being  a  lonely  man,  in  the  midst  of  many 
men  and  women,  my  heart  was  filled  with  a  great  longing 
for  my  sweetheart.  But  the  weary  months  went  by  and 
still  there  was  no  sign  of  Norah. 

When  writing  home  I  made  enquiries  about  her,  but 

s 


258    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

my  people  said  that  she  had  entirely  disappeared ;  no 
Glenmornan  man  had  seen  Norah  Ryan  for  many  years. 
My  mother  warned  me  to  keep  out  of  Norah's  company 
if  ever  I  met  her,  for  Norah  was  a  bad  woman.  My  mother 
was  a  Glenmornan  woman,  and  the  Glenmornan  women 
have  no  fellow-feeling  for  those  who  sin. 

Manual  labour  was  now  becoming  irksome  to  me,  and 
eight  shillings  a  week  to  myself  at  the  end  of  six  days' 
heavy  labour  was  poor  consolation  for  the  danger  and  worry 
of  the  long  hours  of  toil.  I  did  not  care  for  money,  but  I 
was  afraid  of  meeting  with  an  accident,  when  I  might  get 
maimed  and  not  killed.  It  would  be  an  awful  thing  if  a 
man  like  me  got  deprived  of  the  use  of  an  arm  or  leg,  and 
an  accident  might  happen  to  me  any  day.  In  the  end 
I  made  up  my  mind  that  if  I  was  to  meet  with  an  accident 
I  would  take  my  own  life,  and  henceforth  I  looked  at  the 
future  with  stoical  calm. 

I  have  said  before  that  I  am  very  strong.  There  was  no 
man  on  the  railway  line  who  could  equal  me  at  lifting 
rails  or  loading  ballast  waggons.  I  had  great  ambitions 
Jo  become  a  wrestler  and  go  on  the  stage.  No  workman 
on  the  permanent  way  could  rival  me  in  a  test  of 
strength.  Wrestling  appealed  to  me,  and  I  threw  the 
stoutest  of  my  opponents  in  less  than  three  minutes.  I 
started  to  train  seriously,  bought  books  on  physical  im- 
provement, and  spent  twelve  shillings  and  sixpence  on  a 
pair  of  dumb-bells.  During  meal  hours  I  persuaded  my 
mates  to  wrestle  with  me.  Wet  weather  or  dry,  it  did  not 
matter  !  We  went  at  it  shoulder  and  elbows  in  the  muddy 
fields  and  alongside  the  railway  track.  We  threw  one 
another  across  point-rods  and  signal  bars  until  we  bled 
and  sweated  at  our  work.  I  usually  took  on  two  men  at 
a  time  and  never  got  beaten.  For  whole  long  months  I 
was  a  complete  mass  of  bruises,  my  skin  was  torn  from 
my  arms,  my  clothes  were  dragged  to  ribbons,  and  my 


A  NEW  JOB  259 

bones  ached  so  much  that  I  could  hardly  sleep  at  night  owing 
to  the  pain.  I  attended  contests  in  the  music-halls,  eager 
to  learn  tips  from  the  professionals  who  had  acquired  fame 
in  the  sporting  world. 

The  shunter  of  our  ballast  train  was  a  heavy-shouldered 
man,  and  he  had  a  bad  temper  and  an  unhappy  knack 
of  lifting  his  fists  to  those  who  were  afraid  of  him.  He  was 
a  strong  rung  of  a  man,  and  he  boasted  about  the  number 
of  fights  in  which  he  had  taken  part.  He  was  also  a  lusty 
liar  and  an  irrepressible  swearer.  Nearly  everyone  in  the 
job  was  afraid  of  him,  and  to  the  tune  of  a  wonderful 
vocabulary  of  unprintable  words  he  bullied  all  Martin 
Rudor's  men  into  abject  submission.  But  that  was  an 
easy  task.  He  felt  certain  that  every  man  on  the  permanent 
way  feared  him,  and  maybe  that  was  why  he  called  me  an 
Irish  cur  one  evening.  We  were  shovelling  ashes  from  the 
ballast  waggons  on  one  line  into  the  four-foot  way  of  the 
other,  and  the  shunter  stood  on  the  foot-board  of  the  break- 
van  two  truck  lengths  away  from  me.  I  threw  my  shovel 
down,  stepped  across  the  waggons,  and  taking  hold  of  the 
fellow  by  the  neck  and  waist  I  pulled  him  over  the  rim  of 
the  vehicle  and  threw  him  headlong  down  the  railway 
slope.  I  broke  his  coupling  pole  over  my  knee,  and  threw 
the  pieces  at  his  head.  The  breaking  of  the  coupling  pole 
impressed  the  man  very  much.  Few  can  break  one  over 
their  knees.  When  the  shunter  came  to  the  top  of  the 
slope  again,  he  was  glad  to  apologise  to  me,  and  thus  save 
himself  further  abuse. 

That  evening,  when  coming  in  from  my  work,  I  saw  a 
printed  announcement  stating  that  a  well-known  Japanese 
wrestler  was  offering  ten  pounds  to  any  man  whom  he  could 
not  overcome  in  less  than  five  minutes  in  a  ju-jitsu  contest. 
He  was  appearing  in  a  hall  on  the  south  side  of  the  city, 
and  he  was  well-known  as  an  exponent  of  the  athletic 
art. 


260    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

I  went  to  the  hall  that  evening,  hoping  to  earn  the  ten 
pounds.  The  shunter  was  four  stone  heavier  than  I  was, 
yet  I  overcame  him  easily,  and  the  victory  caused  me  to 
place  great  reliance  on  myself. 

I  took  a  threepenny  seat  in  the  gallery,  and  waited  breath- 
less for  the  coming  of  the  wrestler.  Several  artists  appeared, 
were  applauded  or  hissed,  then  went  off  the  stage,  but  I 
took  very  little  heed  of  their  performances.  All  my 
thoughts  were  centred  on  the  pose  which  I  would  assume 
when  rising  to  accept  the  challenge. 

Sitting  next  to  me  was  a  fat  foreigner,  probably  a  seller 
of  fish-suppers  or  ice-cream.  I  wondered  what  he  would 
think  of  me  when  he  saw  me  rise  to  my  feet  and  accept 
the  challenge.  What  would  the  girl  who  sat  on  the  other 
side  of  me  think  ?  She  kept  eating  oranges  all  the  evening, 
and  giggling  loudly  at  every  indecent  joke  made  by  the 
actors.  She  was  somewhat  the  worse  for  liquor,  and  her 
language  was  far  from  choice.  She  was  very  pretty  and 
knew  it.  A  half -dressed  woman  sang  a  song,  every  stanza 
of  which  ended  with  a  lewd  chorus.  The  girl  beside  me 
joined  in  the  song  and  clapped  her  hands  boisterously  when 
the  artiste  left  the  stage. 

Th  wrestler  was  the  star  turn  of  the  evening,  and  his 
exhibition  was  numbered  two  on  the  programme.  When 
the  number  went  up  my  heart  fluttered  madly,  and  I  felt 
a  great  difficulty  in  drawing  my  breath. 

The  curtain  rose  slowly.  A  man  in  evening  dress, 
bearing  a  folded  paper  in  his  hand,  came  out  to  the  front 
of  the  stage.  One  of  the  audience  near  me  applauded 
with  his  hands. 

"  That  s  nae  a  wrestler,  you  fool  !  "  someone  shouted. 
"  You  dinna  ken  what  you're  clappin'  about." 

"  Silence !  " 

The  audience  took  up  the  word  and  all  shouted  silence, 
until  the  din  was  deafening. 


A  NEW  JOB  261 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  began  the  figure  on  the  stage, 
when  the  noise  abated. 

Everyone  applauded  again.  Even  the  girl  beside  me 
blurted  out  "  Hear  !  hear  !  "  through  a  mouthful  of  orange 
juice.  Those  who  pay  threepence  for  their  seats  love  to 
be  called  ladies  and  gentlemen. 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  I  have  great  pleasure  in 

introducin'  U Y ,  the  well-known  exponent  of  the 

art  of  ju-jitsu." 

A  little  dark  man  with  very  bright  eyes  stepped  briskly 
on  the  stage,  and  bowed  to  the  audience,  then  folded  his 
arms  over  his  breast  and  gazed  into  vacancy  with  an  air  of 
boredom.  He  wore  a  heavy  overcoat  which  lay  open  at 
the  neck  and  exposed  his  chest  muscles  to  the  gaping 
throng. 

"  Everybody  here  has  heard  of  U Y ,  no  doubt." 

The  evening  dress  was  speaking  again.  "  He  is  well  known 
in  America,  in  England,  and  on  the  continent.  At  the 
present  time  he  is  the  undefeated  champion  of  his  weight 
in  all  the  world.  He  is  now  prepared  to  hand  over  the  sum 
of  ten  pounds  to  any  man  in  the  audience  who  can  stand 
against  him  for  five  minutes.  Is  there  any  gentleman 
in  the  audience  prepared  to  accept  the  challenge  ?  " 

"  I  could  wrestle  him  mysel',"  said  the  girl  of  the  orange- 
scented  breath  in  a  whisper.  Apart  from  that  there  was 
silence. 

"  Is  any  man  in  the  audience  prepared  to  accept  the  offer 
and  earn  the  sum  of  ten  pounds  ?  "  repeated  the  man  on 
the  stage. 

"  I  am." 

Somehow  I  had  risen  to  my  feet,  and  my  words  came  out 
spasmodically.  Everyone  in  front  turned  round  and 
stared  at  me.  My  seat-mate  clapped  her  hands,  and  the 
audience  followed  her  example. 

There  is  no  need  to  give  an  account   of    the   contest; 


262    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

Suffice  to  say  that  I  did  not  collar  the  ten-pound  note, 
and  that  I  had  not  the  ghost  of  a  chance  in  the  match. 
It  only  lasted  for  forty-seven  seconds.  The  crowd  hissed 
me  off  the  stage,  and  I  got  hurriedly  into  the  street  when  I 
regained  my  coat  in  the  dressing-room.  I  went  out  into 
the  night,  sick  at  heart,  a  defeated  man,  with  another  of 
my  illusions  dashed  to  pieces.  I  took  no  interest  in 
wrestling  afterwards. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

A  SWEETHEART  OF  MINE 

"  She  learned  the  pitiful  story,  that  they  must  suffer  who  live, 
While  selling  her  soul  in  the  gutters  for  all  that  the  gutters  give." 

— From  Lost  Souls. 

THERE  was  a  cold  air  running  along  the  street 
when  I  stepped  into  the  open  and  took  my  way 
along  the  town  to  Moran's  model  where  I 
lodged.  I  felt  disappointed,  vexed,  and  ashamed  of  my 
ludicrous  exhibition  on  the  stage.  Forty-seven  seconds  ! 
As  I  walked  along  I  could  hear  the  referee  repeating  the 
words  over  and  over  again.  Forty-seven  seconds  !  I  was 
both  angry  and  ashamed,  angry  at  my  own  weakness, 
and  ashamed  of  the  presumption  which  urged  me  to  attack 
a  professional  athlete.  I  walked  quickly,  trying  to  drive 
all  memories  of  the  night  from  my  mind. 

The  hour  of  midnight  rang  out,  and  the  streets  were 
almost  deserted.  Here  and  there  a  few  night-prowlers 
stole  out  from  some  gloomy  alley  and  hurried  along,  bent, 
no  doubt,  upon  some  fell  mission  which  could  only  be  carried 
through  under  cover  of  the  darkness.  Once  a  belated 
drunken  man  swayed  in  front  of  me,  and  asked  for  a  match 
to  light  his  pipe.  I  had  none  to  give  him,  and  he  cursed 
me  as  I  passed  on.  I  met  a  few  women  on  the  streets, 
young  girls  whose  cheeks  were  very  red,  and  whose  eyes 
were  very  bright.  This  was  the  hour  when  these,  our  little 
sisters,  carry  on  the  trade  which  means  life  to  their  bodies 


264    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

and  death  to  their  souls.  It  is  so  easy  to  recognise  them  ! 
Their  eyes  sparkle  brightly  in  the  lamplight ;  they  speak 
light  and  trivial  words  to  the  men  whom  they  meet,  and 
ever  they  hold  their  skirts  lifted  well  over  their  ankles  so 
that  those  whom  they  meet  may  know  of  the  goods  which 
they  sell.  The  sisters  of  the  street  barter  their  chastity 
for  little  pieces  of  silver,  and  from  them  money  can  purchase 
the  rightful  heritage  of  love. 

These,  like  navvies,  are  outcasts  and  waifs  of  society. 
They  are  despised  by  those  who  hide  imperfections  under 
the  mask  of  decency,  men  and  women  who  are  so  con- 
scious of  their  own  shortcomings  that  they  make  up  for 
them  by  censuring  those  of  others. 

White  slavery  is  now  the  term  used  in  denoting  these 
girls'  particular  kind  of  slavery.  But,  bad  as  it  is,  it  is 
chosen  by  many  women  in  preference  to  the  slavery  of  the 
mill  and  the  needle.  As  I  write  this,  there  are  many  noble 
ladies,  famed  for  having  founded  several  societies  for  the 
suppression  of  evils  that  never  existed,  who  believe  that 
the  solution  of  the  white  slave  problem  can  only  be  arrived 
at  by  flogging  men  who  live  on  the  immoral  earnings  of 
women.  This  solution  if  extended  might  meet  the  case. 
In  all  justice  the  lash  should  be  laid  on  the  backs  of 
the  employers  who  pay  starvation  wages,  and  the 
masters  who  fatten  on  sweated  labour.  The  slavery  of 
the  shop  and  the  mill  is  responsible  for  the  shame  of  the 
street. 

A  girl  came  out  from  the  shadow  of  a  doorway,  and 
walked  along  the  street  in  front  of  me,  her  head  held  down 
against  the  cutting  breeze.  Sometimes  she  spoke  words 
to  the  men  who  passed  her,  but  all  went  on  unheeding. 
Only  to  those  who  were  well-dressed  and  prosperous- 
looking  did  she  speak. 

I  thought  of  my  own  sisters  away  home  in  Ireland,  and 
here,  but  for  the  grace  of  God,  went  one  of  them.  At  that 


A  SWEETHEART  OF  MINE       265 

moment  I  felt  sick  of  life  and  sorry  for  civilisation  and  all 
its  sin. 

I  detected  something  familiar  in  the  figure  of  the  woman 
before  me.  Perhaps  I  had  met  the  woman  before.  I 
overtook  her,  and  when  passing  looked  at  her  closely. 

"  Under  God,  the  day  and  the  night,  it's  Dermod 
Flynn  that's  in  it !  "  she  cried  in  a  frightened  voice. 

I  was  looking  at  Norah  Ryan.  Just  for  a  moment  she 
was  far  from  my  thoughts,  and  my  mind  was  busy  with 
other  things.  I  had  almost  lost  all  hopes  of  meeting  her, 
and  thought  that  she  was  dead  or  gone  to  a  strange  country. 

"  Is  this  you,  Norah  ?  "  I  asked,  coming  to  a  standstill, 
and  putting  out  the  hand  of  welcome  to  her. 

She  seemed  taken  aback,  and  placed  her  hand  timorously 
in  mine.  Her  cheeks  were  very  red  and  her  brow  was  as 
white  as  snow.  She  had  hardly  changed  in  features  since 
I  had  last  seen  her,  years  before.  Now  her  hair  was  hidden 
under  a  large  hat ;  long  ago  it  hung  down  in  brown  waving 
tresses  over  her  shoulders.  The  half-timid  look  was  still 
in  the  grey  eyes  of  her,  and  Norah  Ryan  was  very  much 
the  same  girl  who  had  been  my  sweetheart  of  old.  Only, 
now  she  had  sinned  and  her  shame  of  all  shames  was  the 
hardest  to  bear. 

"  Is  it  ye,  yerself,  that's  in  it,  Dermod  Flynn  ?  "  she  asked, 
as  if  not  believing  the  evidence  of  her  own  eyes. 

In  her  voice  there  was  a  great  weariness,  and  at  that 
moment  the  sound  of  the  waters  falling  over  the  high  rocks 
of  Glenmornan  were  ringing  in  my  ears.  Also  I  thought  of 
an  early  delicate  flower  which  I  had  once  found  killed  by 
the  cold  snows  on  the  high  uplands  of  Danaveen,  ere  yet 
the  second  warmth  of  the  spring  had  come  to  gladden  the 
bare  hills  of  Donegal.  In  those  days,  being  a  little  child,  I 
felt  sorry  for  the  flower  that  died  so  soon. 

"  I  didn't  expect  to  meet  ye  here,"  said  Norah.  "  Have 
ye  been  away  back  and  home  since  I  saw  ye  last  ?  " 


266    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

"  I  have  never  been  at  home  since,"  I  answered.  "  Have 
you  ?  " 

"  Me  go  home  !  "  she  replied.  "  What  would  I  be  doin' 
goin'  home  now  with  the  black  mark  of  shame  over  me  ?  Do 
ye  think  that  I'd  darken  me  mother's  door  with  the  sin 
that's  on  me  heavy,  on  me  soul  ?  Sometimes  I'm  thinkin' 
long,  but  I  never  let  on  to  anyone,  and  it's  meself  that 
would  like  to  see  the  old  place  again.  It's  a  good  lot  I'd 
give  to  see  the  grey  boats  of  Dooey  goin'  out  again  beyont 
Trienna  Bar  in  the  grey  duskus  of  the  harvest  evenin'  ! 
Do  ye  mind  the  time  ye  were  at  school,  Dermod,  and  the 
way  ye  hit  the  master  with  the  pointer  ?  " 

"  I  mind  it  well,"  I  answered.  "  You  said  that  he  was 
dead  when  he  dropped  on  the  form." 

"  And  do  ye  mind  the  day  that  ye  went  over  beyont  the 
mountains  with  yer  bundle  under  yer  arm  ?  I  met  ye  on 
the  road  and  ye  said  that  ye  were  never  comin'  back." 

"  You  did  not  care  whether  I  returned  or  not,"  I  said 
resentfully,  unable  to  account  for  my  mood  of  the  moment. 
"  You  did  not  even  stop  to  bid  me  good-bye." 

"  I  was  frightened  of  ye." 

"  Why  were  you  frightened  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  But  you  did  not  even  turn  and  look  after  me,"  I 
said. 

"  That  was  because  I  knew  that  ye,  yerself,  was  lookin' 
behind." 

"  Do  you  remember  the  night  on  the  'Deny  boat  ?  "  I 
asked. 

"  Quite  well  do  I  mind  it,  Dermod,"  she  replied.  "  I 
often  be  thinkin'  of  them  days,  I  do,  indeed." 

She  was  looking  at  me  with  wistful  and  pathetic  eyes, 
and  the  street  lamp  beside  us  shone  full  on  her  face. 
There  was  a  long  interval  of  silence,  and  I  did  not  know 
what  to  say  next.  Many  a  time  had  I  thought  of  our  next 


A  SWEETHEART  OF  MINE       267 

meeting,  and  my  head  was  usually  teeming  with  the  words 
of  welcome  which  I  would  say  to  her.  But  now  I  was 
almost  at  a  loss  for  one  single  word.  The  situation  was 
strained,  and  she  showed  signs  of  taking  her  departure. 

"  Where  are  you  going  at  this  hour  of  the  night,  Norah  ?  " 
I  asked  impulsively. 

"  I'm  goin'  for  a  walk." 

"  Where  are  you  working  ?  " 

Well  did  I  know  her  work,  but  I  could  not  resist  asking 
her  the  question.  The  next  moment  I  was  sorry  for  my 
words.  Norah's  face  became  white,  she  stammered  a  few 
words  about  being  a  servant  in  a  gentleman's  house,  then 
suddenly  burst  into  tears. 

"  Don't  cry,"  I  said  in  a  lame  sort  of  manner.  "  What's 
wrong  ?  " 

She  kept  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  pavement,  and  did  not 
answer.  I  could  see  her  bosom  heaving,  and  hear  the  low 
sobs  that  she  tried  vainly  to  suppress.  We  stood  there  for 
nearly  five  minutes  without  a  word.  Then  she  held  out 
her  hand. 

"  Slan  agiv,*  Dermod,"  she  said.  'f  I  must  be  goin'. 
It  was  good  of  ye  to  speak  to  me  in  that  nice  way  of  yers, 
Dermod." 

The  hand  which  she  placed  in  mine  was  limp  and  cold. 
I  struggled  to  find  words  to  express  my  feelings  at  the 
moment,  but  my  tongue  was  tied,  and  my  mind  was  teeming 
with  thoughts  which  I  could  not  express.  She  drew  her 
hand  softly  from  mine  and  walked  back  the  way  she  had 
come. 

I  stood  there  nonplussed,  feeling  conscious  of  some  great, 
wrong  in  allowing  that  grey-eyed  Irish  girl  to  wander  alone 
through  the  naked  streets  of  Glasgow.  For  years  I  had 
recognised  the  evils  of  prostitution,  but  never  had  those 
evils  come  home  so  sharply  to  me  as  they  did  at  that 
*  Good-bye  ;  literally,  "  Health  be  with  you." 


268    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

moment.  Despite  my  cynical  views  on  love  I  had  always 
a  feeling  deeper  than  friendship  for  Norah  Ryan,  and  at 
times  when  I  tried  to  analyse  this  feeling  I  found  that  it 
was  not  love ;  it  was  something  more  constant,  less  rash 
and  less  wavering.  It  was  not  subject  to  changes  or 
stints,  it  was  a  hold-fast,  the  grip  of  which  never 
lessened. 

It  was  a  love  without  any  corporal  end ;  its  greatest 
desire  did  not  turn  to  the  illusive  delights  of  the  marriage 
bed.  My  love  had  none  of  the  hunger  of  lust ;  it  was  not 
an  appetite  which  might  be  satiated — it  was  something 
far  holier  and  more  enduring.  To  me  Norah  represented 
a  poetical  ideal ;  she  was  a  saint,  the  angel  of  my  dreams. 
Never  for  a  moment  did  I  think  of  winning  her  love  merely 
for  the  purpose  of  condemning  her  to  a  hell  of  bearing  me 
children.  In  all  our  poetry  and  music  of  love  we  delight 
merely  in  the  soft  glance  of  eyes,  the  warm  touch  of  lips, 
the  soft  feel  of  a  maiden's  breast  and  the  flutter  of  one 
heart  beating  against  another.  But  all  love  of  women 
leads  to  passion,  and  poetry  or  music  cannot  follow  beyond 
a  certain  boundary.  There  poetry  dies,  music  falters,  and 
the  mark  of  the  beast  is  over  man  in  the  moments  of  his 
desire.  But  my  love  for  Norah  was  different.  To  me  she 
represented  a  youthful  ideal  which  was  too  beautiful  and 
pure  to  be  degraded  by  anything  in  the  world. 

Norah  had  given  her  love  to  another.  Who  was  I  that 
I  should  blame  her  ?  In  her  love  she  was  helpless,  for  love 
is  not  the  result  of  effort.  It  cannot  be  stopped ;  its 
course  cannot  be  stayed.  As  well  ask  the  soft  spring 
meadows  to  prevent  the  rising  freshet  from  wetting  the 
green  grass,  as  ask  a  maiden  to  stem  the  torrent  of  the  love 
which  overwhelms  her.  Love  is  not  acquired  ;  it  is  not  a 
servant.  It  comes  and  is  master. 

Norah's  sufferings  were  due  to  her  innocence.  She  was 
betrayed  when  yet  a  child,  and  a  child  is  easily  led  astray. 


A  SWEETHEART  OF  MINE       269 

But  to  me  she  was  still  pure,  and  I  knew  that  there  was  no 
stain  on  the  soul  of  her. 

For  a  long  while  I  stood  looking  after  her  and  turning 
thoughts  over  in  my  mind.  In  the  far  distance  I  could  see 
her  stealing  along  the  pavement  like  a  frightened  child 
who  is  afraid  of  the  shadows.  I  turned  and  followed  her, 
keeping  well  in  the  gloom  of  the  houses  which  lined  the 
pavement.  She  passed  through  many  streets,  stopping 
now  and  again  to  speak  to  the  men  whom  she  met  on  her 
journey.  Never  once  did  she  look  back.  At  the  corner 
of  Sauciehall  Street,  a  well-dressed  and  half-intoxicated 
man  stopped  and  spoke  to  her.  For  a  few  seconds  they 
conversed  ;  then  the  man  linked  his  arm  in  hers  and  the 
two  of  them  walked  off  together. 

I  stood  at  the  street  corner,  unable  to  move  or  act,  and 
almost  unable  to  think.  A  blind  rage  welled  up  in  my  heart 
against  the  social  system  that  compelled  women  to  seek  a 
livelihood  by  pandering  to  the  impurity  of  men.  Norah 
had  come  to  Scotland  holy  and  pure,  and  eager  to  earn  the 
rent  of  her  mother's  croft.  She  had  earned  many  rents 
for  the  landlord  who  had  caused  me  sufferings  in  Mid- 
Tyrone  and  who  was  responsible  for  the  death  of  my 
brother  Dan.  To  the  same  landlord  Norah  had  given  her 
soul  and  her  purity.  The  young  girls  of  Donegal  come 
radiantly  innocent  from  their  own  glens  and  mountains, 
but  often,  alas  !  they  fall  into  sin  in  a  far  country.  It  is 
unholy  to  expect  all  that  is  good  and  best  from  the  young 
girls  who  lodge  with  the  beasts  of  the  byre  and  swine  of  the 
sty.  I  felt  angry  with  the  social  system  which  was  respon- 
sible for  such  a  state  of  affairs,  but  my  anger  was  thrown 
away  ;  it  was  a  monstrous  futility.  The  social  system  is 
not  like  a  person  ;  one  man's  anger  cannot  remedy  it, 
one  man's  fist  cannot  strike  at  its  iniquities. 

Norah  had  now  disappeared,  and  with  my  brain  afire  I 
followed  her  round  the  turn  of  the  street.  What  I  intended 


270    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

to  do  was  even  a  riddle  to  myself.  When  I  overtook  them 
the  man  who  accompanied  Norah  would  bear  the  impress 
of  my  knuckles  for  many  days.  Only  of  this  was  I  certain. 
I  turned  into  several  streets  and  searched  until  three  o'clock 
in  the  morning.  But  she  had  gone  out  of  my  sight  once 
again.  Then  I  went  home  to  bed,  but  not  to  sleep. 

Sick  at  heart  and  a  prey  to  remorse,  I  prowled  through 
the  streets  for  many  nights  afterwards,  looking  for  Norah. 
I  did  not  meet  her  again,  and  only  too  late  did  I  realise  the 
opportunity  which  I  had  let  slip  when  I  met  her  at  mid- 
night in  the  city.  But  meeting  her  as  I  had  met  her  on  the 
streets,  I  found  myself  faced  with  a  new  problem,  which 
for  a  moment  overwhelmed  and  snapped  the  springs 
of  action  within  me.  In  Glenmornan  Norah  would  now 
be  known  as  "  that  woman,"  and  the  Glenmornan  pride 
makes  a  man  much  superior  to  women  who  make  the  great 
mistake  of  life.  Thank  goodness  !  the  Glenmornan  pride 
was  almost  dead  within  my  heart.  I  thought  that  I  had 
killed  it  years  before,  but  there,  on  the  streets  of  Glasgow,  I 
found  that  part  of  it  was  remaining  when  I  met  with  Norah 
Ryan.  It  rose  in  rebellion  when  I  spoke  to  the  girl  who  had 
sinned,  it  checked  the  impulse  of  my  heart  for  just  a  moment, 
and  in  that  moment  she  whom  I  loved  had  passed  out  of 
my  sight  and  perhaps  out  of  my  life. 

Life  on  the  railway,  always  monotonous,  became  now 
dreary  and  dragging.  Day  and  night  my  thoughts  were 
turning  to  her  whom  I  loved,  and  my  heart  went  out  to  the 
girl  who  was  suffering  in  a  lonely  town  because  she  loved 
too  well.  I  was  now  almost  a  prey  to  despair,  and  in  order 
to  divert  my  mind  somewhat  from  the  thoughts  that 
embittered  my  life  I  began  to  write  for  the  papers 
again. 

Ideas  came  to  me  while  at  work,  and  these  I  scribbled 
down  on  scraps  of  paper  when  the  old  psalm-singing  ganger 
was  not  watching  me.  When  I  got  back  to  Moran's  in  the 


A  SWEETHEART  OF  MINE       271 

evening  I  worked  the  ideas  into  prose  or  verse  which  I 
sent  out  to  various  papers.  Many  of  my  verses  appeared 
in  a  Glasgow  paper,  and  I  got  paid  at  the  rate  of  three-and- 
sixpence  a  poem.  Later  on  I  wrote  for  London  weeklies, 
and  these  paid  me  better  for  my  work.  Some  editors 
wrote  very  nice  letters  to  me,  others  sent  my  stuff  back, 
explaining  that  lack  of  space  prevented  them  from  publish- 
ing it.  I  often  wondered  why  they  did  not  speak  the  truth. 
A  navvy  who  generally  speaks  the  truth  finds  it  difficult  to 
distinguish  the  line  of  demarcation  which  runs  between 
falsehood  and  politeness.  Most  of  my  spare  evenings  I 
gave  up  to  writing,  but  often  I  found  myself  out  in  the 
street  where  I  had  met  Norah  Ryan,  and  sometimes  I 
wandered  there  until  four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  but  never 
once  set  eyes  on  her. 

A  literary  frenzy  took  possession  of  me  for  a  while.  I 
bought  second-hand  books  on  every  subject,  and  studied 
all  things  from  the  infinitely  great  to  the  infinitesimally 
little.  Microbes  and  mammoths,  atoms  and  solar  systems — 
I  learned  a  little  of  all  and  everything  of  none.  I  wrote, 
not  for  the  love  of  writing  as  much  as  to  drown  my  own 
introspective  humours,  but  in  no  external  thing  was  I 
interested  enough  to  forget  my  own  thoughts. 

I  studied  literary  style,  and  but  for  that  I  might  have  by 
this  time  cultivated  a  style  of  my  own  ;  I  read  so  much 
that  now  I  have  hardly  an  original  idea  left.  Only  lately 
have  I  come  to  the  conclusion  that  true  art,  the  only  true 
art,  is  that  which  appeals  to  the  simple  people.  When 
writing  this  book  I  have  been  governed  by  this  conclusion, 
and  have  endeavoured  to  tell  of  things  which  all  people 
may  understand. 

Most  of  my  articles  and  stories  came  back  with  the 
precision  of  boomerangs,  weapons  of  which  I  have  heard 
much  talk,  and  which  are  said  to  come  back  to  the  hand 
of  the  man  who  throws  them  away  ;  some  were  published 


272    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

and  never  paid  for,  and  some  never  came  back 
at  all. 

Suddenly  it  occurred  to  me  that  editors  might  like  to 
publish  articles  on  subjects  which  were  seldom  written 
about.  I  wrote  about  the  navvies'  lives  again  ;  the  hopes 
and  sorrows  and  aspirations  of  the  men  of  the  hovel, 
model,  and  road.  Several  papers  took  my  articles,  and  for 
a  while  I  drew  in  a  decent  penny  for  my  literary  work. 
Indeed,  I  had  serious  intentions  of  giving  up  manual  labour 
and  taking  to  the  pen  for  good.  Some  of  my  stories  again 
appeared  in  the  Dawn,  the  London  daily  paper  which 
had  published  my  Kinlochleven  stories,  and  on  one  fine 
morning  I  received  a  letter  from  the  editor  asking  me  to 
come  and  take  a  job  on  the  staff  of  his  paper.  He  offered 
me  two  pounds  a  week  as  salary,  and  added  that  I  was 
certain  to  attain  eminence  in  the  position  which  was  now 
open  to  me.  I  decided  to  go,  not  because  I  had  any  great 
desire  for  the  job,  but  because  I  wanted  to  get  rid  of  old 
Rudor  and  his  gang,  and  I  also  wanted  to  see  London. 
Being  wise  enough  to  throw  most  of  the  responsibility  on 
the  person  who  suggested  such  a  change  in  my  life  and  work, 
I  answered  the  editor,  saying  that  though  I  was  a  writer 
among  navvies  I  might  merely  be  a  navvy  among  writers, 
and  that  journalistic  work  was  somewhat  out  of  my  line. 
Still  the  editor  persisted  and  enclosed  the  cost  of  my  railway 
fare  to  London.  To  go  I  was  not  reluctant,  to  leave  I  was 
not  eager.  I  accepted  because  the  change  promised  new 
adventures,  but  there  was  no  excitement  in  my  heart, 
for  now  I  took  things  almost  as  they  came,  unmoved  and 
uncaring.  Norah  had  gone  out  of  my  life,  \vhich,  full  of 
sorrow  for  losing  her,  was  empty  without  her.  The  enthu- 
siasm which  once  winged  my  way  along  the  leading  road  to 
Strabane  was  now  dead  within  me. 

I  washed  the  dirt  of  honest  work  from  my  hands  and 
face,  and  the  whole  result  of  seven  years'  hard  labour  was 


A  SWEETHEART  OF  MINE       273 

dissipated  in  the  wash-tub.  Then  I  went  out  and  bought 
two  ready-made  suits  and  several  articles  of  attire  which 
I  felt  would  be  necessary  for  my  new  situation.  I  packed 
these  up,  and  with  my  little  handbag  for  company  I  went 
out  from  Moran's  model  by  Glasgow  wharf,  and  caught 
the  night  express  for  London. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

UNSKILLED  LABOUR  OF  A  NEW  KIND 

"  A  newspaper  is  as  untruthful  as  an  epitaph." 

— BARWELL. 

I  HAD  never  seen  an  omnibus.  I  did  not  know  that  it 
was  necessary  to  take  off  my  hat  when  entering  a 
dwelling.  I  had  never  used  a  fork  when  eating. 
I  had  never  been  introduced  to  a  lady  ;  to  me  the  approved 
form  of  introduction  was  a  mystery.  My  boots  had  not 
been  blackened  for  years.  I  wore  my  first  collar  when 
setting  out  for  London.  It  nearly  choked  me.  Since 
leaving  Glenmornan  I  had  rarely  been  inside  an  ordinary 
dwelling  house.  Most  of  the  time  I  had  lived  under  God's 
sky,  the  roof  of  a  byre,  and  the  tarred  wooden  covering  of 
the  navvies'  shack  at  Kinlochleven.  I  had,  it  is  true, 
seen  the  inside  of  a  drawing-room  and  a  dining-room — 
through  the  window.  I  lacked  knowledge  of  most  of  the 
things  which  most  people  know  and  which  really  do  not 
matter.  I  went  to  London  a  greenhorn  gloriously  green. 
Outside  Euston  station  I  asked  a  man  the  way  to  Fleet 
Street.  He  inquired  if  I  was  going  to  walk  or  take  an 
omnibus.  Omnibus  !  I  had  never  heard  of  an  omnibus ; 
he  might  have  asked  me  if  I  intended  to  ride  on  a  ptero- 
dactyl !  I  said  that  I  was  going  to  walk,  and  the  stranger 
gave  me  several  hints  as  to  the  direction  which  I  should 
follow.  Even  if  I  had  understood  what  he  was  saying,  I 
am  certain  that  I  could  not  have  remembered  the  direc- 
tions. When  he  finished,  he  asked  me  for  the  price  of 


UNSKILLED  LABOUR  275 

his  breakfast.  This  I  understood,  and  gave  him  three- 
pence, which  pleased  the  man  mightily. 

It  was  funny  that  the  first  man  accosted  by  me  in  London 
should  ask  for  the  price  of  a  meal.  The  prospects  of  making 
a  fortune  looked  poor  at  the  moment. 

I  walked  to  Fleet  Street,  making  inquiries  from  police- 
men on  the  way.  This  was  safest,  and  I  hadn't  to  pay  for  a 
meal  when  my  questions  were  answered.  By  ten  o'clock 
I  found  myself  at  the  office  of  the  Dawn,  and  there  I  met 
the  editor. 

The  editor  was  a  Frenchman,  short  of  stature  and 
breath.  His  figure  was  ridiculously  rotund,  and  his  little 
legs  were  so  straight  that  they  looked  as  if  they  were 
jointless.  He  would  not  have  made  much  of  a  show 
on  a  ten-hour  shift  in  the  cutting  of  Kinlochleven, 
and  though  Fleet  Street  knows  that  he  is  one  of  the 
ablest  editors  in  London  I  had  not  much  respect  for  the 
man  when  I  first  saw  him.  He  was  busily  engaged  in  look- 
ing through  sheets  of  flimsy  when  I  entered,  and  for  a  few 
minutes  he  did  not  take  much  notice  of  me.  He  called 
me  Pirn,  asked  me  several  questions  about  the  navvies, 
my  politics  and  writings.  He  looked  annoyed  when  I 
said  I  was  a  socialist. 

"  A  writer  among  navvies,  and  a  navvy  among  writers  ; 
is  that  it  ?  "  asked  the  news-editor  when  I  entered  his 
office,  a  stuffy  little  place  full  of  tobacco  smoke.  "  You 
see  that  we  have  heard  of  you  here.  Going  to  try  your 
hand  at  journalism  now,  are  you  ?  Feeling  healthy  and 
fit?" 

He  plied  me  with  several  questions  relating  to  my  past 
life,  took  no  heed  of  my  answers  and,  fumbling  amongst 
a  pile  of  papers,  he  drew  out  a  type-written  slip. 

"  I  have  a  story  for  you,"  he  said.  "  A  fire  broke  out 
early  this  morning  in  a  warehouse  in  Holborn.  Go  out 
and  get  all  the  facts  relating  to  it  and  work  the  whole  affair 


276    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

up  well.  If  you  do  not  know  where  Holborn  is,  make 
enquiries." 

I  met  a  third  man,  a  young,  clean-shaven,  alert  youth,  in 
the  passage  outside  the  news-editor's  door. 

"  Are  you  Flynn  ?  "  he  asked,  and  when  I  answered  in 
the  affirmative  he  shook  hands  with  me.  "  My  name  is 
Barwell,"  he  continued.  "  I  am  a  journalist  like  your- 
self. What  the  devil  caused  you  to  come  here  ?  " 

I  had  no  excuses  to  offer. 

"  You  might  have  stayed  where  you  were,"  said  Barwell. 
"  You'll  find  that  a  navvies'  office  is  much  better  than  a 
newspaper  office.  Have  you  had  lunch  ?  " 

"  No,"  I  answered.  It  was  now  nearly  one  o'clock, 
but  I  had  not  had  breakfast  yet.  I  had  never  been  inside 
a  restaurant  in  my  life,  and  the  daintily-dressed  waitresses 
and  top-hatted  feeders  deterred  me  from  entering  that 
morning.  I  might  have  done  something  unbecoming  and 
stupid,  and  in  a  strange  place  I  am  sensitive  and  shy. 

"  Come  along  then.  We'll  go  out  together  and 
feed." 

We  entered  a  restaurant  in  the  Strand,  and  my  friend 
ordered  lunch  for  two.  During  the  course  of  the  meal  I 
suffered  intense  mental  agony.  The  fork  was  a  problem, 
the  serviette  a  mystery,  and  I  felt  certain  that  everybody 
in  the  place  was  looking  at  me. 

"  The  news-editor  has  asked  me  to  write  an  account  of 
a  fire  in  Holborn,"  I  said  to  Banvell  when  we  had  eaten, 
"  Do  you  know  where  Holborn  is  ?  " 

"  The  whole  account  of  the  fire  is  given  in  the  evening 
papers,"  said  Barwell.  "  Therefore  you  do  not  require 
to  go  near  the  place." 

"  You  mean " 

"  Exactly  what  you  are  going  to  say,"  said  the  young 
man  looking  at  the  copy  of  the  evening  paper  which  he 
had  bought  at  the  door  when  entering.  "  You  can  write 


UNSKILLED  LABOUR  277 

your  story  now  and  get  the  facts  from  this.  Have  you  a 
pencil  and  notebook  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  If  you  are  going  to  take  up  journalism  they  are  the 
initial  and  principal  requirements.  Beyond  a  little  tact 
and  plenty  of  cheek  you  require  nothing  else.  A  conscience 
and  a  love  of  truth  are  great  drawbacks.  Are  you  ready  ?  " 

He  handed  me  a  pencil  and  notebook. 

"  Now  begin.  The  opening  sentence  must  be  crisp  and 
startling  ;  and  never  end  your  sentences  with  prepositions." 

"  But  I  know  nothing  about  the  fire,"  I  expostulated. 

"  Oh  !  I've  forgotten."  He  picked  up  the  paper  which 
he  had  absent-mindedly  kicked  under  the  table.  "  Now 
you  are  all  right.  Get  your  facts  from  this  rag,  but  write 
the  story  in  your  own  way.  You'll  find  this  good  training 
if  ever  you've  got  to  weave  out  lies  of  your  own.  Mean- 
while I've  three  or  four  novels  to  review." 

As  he  spoke  he  opened  a  parcel  which  he  had  brought 
along  with  him,  and  took  out  several  books  which  he 
regarded  critically  for  a  moment. 

"  Are  they  worth  reading  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  do  not  know." 

"  You  do  not  know  and  you're  going  to  review  them  !  " 

"  It's  bad  policy  to  read  a  book  before  you  review  it," 
he  answered.  "  It  is  apt  to  give  rise  to  prejudice.  This 
volume,"  taking  up  one  in  his  hand  as  he  spoke,  "  The 
Woman  who  Fell,  is  written  by  a  personal  friend  of  the 
editor.  I  must  review  it  favourably.  This  one,  In  the 
Teeth  of  the  Tempest,  is  written  by  a  strong  supporter 
of  the  Liberal  Government.  The  Dawn  is  tory,  the 
author  is  liberal,  therefore  his  work  must  be  slated.  See  ?  " 

"  But  your  own  opinion " 

"  What  the  devil  do  I  need  with  an  opinion  of  my  own  ?  " 

Thereupon  Barwell  reviewed  the  books  which  he  had 
not  read  and  I  muddled  through  an  account  of  the  fire 


278    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

which  I  had  not  seen,  and  when  we  had  finished  we  took 
our  way  into  the  street  again. 

Although  it  was  barely  past  three  o'clock,  the  early 
December  night  had  now  fallen.  Fleet  Street  was  a  blaze 
of  light  and  a  medley  of  taxi-cabs  and  omnibuses.  Except 
for  the  down-at-heel  mendicant,  and  the  women  who  had 
more  paint  than  modesty,  everybody  was  in  a  great  hurry. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it  all,  Flynn  ?  "  asked  Barwell 
suddenly.  "  Isn't  it  a  great  change  from  your  past  life  ? 
London  !  there's  no  place  like  it  in  all  the  world  !  Light 
loves  and  light  ladies,  passion  without  soul,  enjoyment 
without  stint,  and  sin  without  scandal  or  compunction." 

"  Only  those  with  some  idea  of  virtue  can  sin  with  com- 
punction," I  said.  This  thought  came  to  me  suddenly, 
and  Barwell  looked  surprised  at  my  words. 

"  By  Jove  !  that's  so,"  he  answered,  scribbling  my  re- 
mark down  on  his  notebook.  "  Well,  what  is  your  opinion 
of  London,  all  that  you  have  seen  of  it  ?  " 

"  What  the  devil  do  I  want  with  an  opinion  ?  "  I  asked, 
quoting  his  own  words. 

"  Quite  so  ;  but  we  are  now  speaking  in  a  confidential, 
not  in  a  journalistic  sense.  Do  you  not  think  that  it  is 
a  heavenly  privilege  to  be  allowed  to  write  lies  for  a  king- 
dom of  fools  within  ninety-eight  million  miles  of  the  sun  ? 
You'll  fall  in  love  with  London  directly,  old  man,  for  it 
is  the  centre  of  the  universe.  The  world  radiates  outwards 
from  Charing  Cross  and  revolves  around  the  Nelson  column. 
London  is  the  world,  journalism  is  the  midden  of  creation." 

"  Do  you  really  think  that  men  are  acting  in  a  straight- 
forward manner  by  writing  unfair  and  untruthful  articles 
for  the  public  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  The  public  is  a  crowd  of  asses  and  you  must  interest  it. 
You  are  paid  to  interest  it  with  plausible  lies  or  unsavoury 
truths.  An  unsavoury  truth  is  always  palatable  to  those 
whom  it  does  not  harm.  Our  readers  gloat  over  scandal, 


UNSKILLED  LABOUR  279 

revel  in  scandal,  and  pay  us  for  writing  it.  Learn  what 
the  public  requires  and  give  it  that.  Think  one  thing  in 
the  morning  and  another  at  night ;  preach  what  is  suitable 
to  the  mob  and  study  the  principle  of  the  paper  for  which 
you  write.  That's  how  you  have  to  do  it,  Flynn.  A 
paper's  principle  is  a  very  subtle  thing,  and  it  must  be 
studied.  Every  measure  passed  in  Parliament  affects  it, 
it  oscillates  to  the  breezes  of  public  opinion  and  it  is  very 
intangible.  The  principle  of  a  daily  paper  is  elusive,  old 
man,  damned  elusive.  Come  in  and  have  a  whisky  and 
soda." 

"  Not  elusive  but  changeable,  I  suppose,"  I  said,  alluding 
to  his  penultimate  remark  as  we  stood  at  the  bar  of  the 
wine  shop.  "  The  principles  of  the  Dawn  are  rather  con- 
sistent, are  they  not  ?  " 

"  The  principles  oscillate,  old  man.  Your  health,  and 
may  you  live  until  newspapers  are  trustworthy !  Con- 
sistent, eh  ?  Some  day  you'll  learn  of  the  inconsistencies 
of  Fleet  Street,  Flynn.  Here  the  Jew  is  an  advocate  of 
Christianity,  the  American  of  Protection,  the  poet  a  com- 
piler of  statistics,  the  penny-a-liner  a  defender  of  the  idle 
rich,  and  the  reporter  with  anarchistic  ideas  a  defender  of 
social  law  and  order.  Here  charlatans,  false  as  they  are 
clever,  play  games  in  which  the  pawns  are  religion  and 
atheism,  and  make,  as  suits  their  purpose,  material  advan- 
tages of  the  former  or  a  religion  of  the  latter.  Fleet  Street 
is  the  home  of  chicanery,  of  fraud,  of  versatile  vices  and  un- 
numbered sins.  It  is  an  outcome  of  the  civilisation  which  it 
rules,  a  framer  of  the  laws  which  it  afterwards  destroys  or 
protects  at  caprice ;  without  conscience  or  soul  it  dominates 
the  world.  Only  in  its  falseness  is  it  consistent.  Truth 
is  further  removed  from  its  jostling  rookeries  than  the  first 
painted  savage  who  stoned  the  wild  boar  in  the  sterile 
wastes  of  Ludgate  Circus." 

Harwell's  gestures  were  as  astonishing  as  his  eloquence. 


280    CHILDREN   OF  THE  DEAD  END 

One  hand  clutched  the  lapel  of  his  coat ;  in  the  other  he 
held  the  glass  of  liquor  which  he  shook  violently  when 
reaching  the  zenith  of  his  harangue.  The  whisky  splashed 
and  sparkled  and  kept  spurting  over  the  rim  of  the  glass 
until  most  of  the  contents  were  emptied  on  the  floor.  He 
hardly  drank  a  quarter  of  the  liquor.  We  went  out,  and 
once  in  the  street  he  continued  his  vehement  utterances. 

"  Take  the  Dawn  for  example,"  he  said.  "  The  editor 
is  a  Frenchman,  the  leader-writer  a  German,  the  American 
special  correspondent  an  Irishman  who  came  to  England 
on  a  cattle  boat  and  who  has  never  ventured  on  the  sea 
since.  The  Dawn  advocates  Tariff  Reform,  and  most  of 
the  reporters  are  socialists.  The  leader-writer  points  out 
the  danger  of  a  German  menace  daily.  What  influences 
one  of  the  Kaiser's  subjects  to  sit  down  and,  for  the  special 
benefit  of  the  British  nation,  write  a  thrilling  warning 
against  the  German  menace  ?  Salary  or  conscience,  eh  ? 
The  Dawn  knows  the  opinions  of  Germany  before  Germany 
has  formed  an  opinion,  and  gives  particulars  of  the  grave 
situation  in  the  Far  East  before  the  chimerical  situation 
has  evolved  from  its  embryological  stages.  Consistent,  my 
dear  fellow  ?  It  is  only  consistent  in  its  inconsistencies.  The 
reviewers  seldom  read  the  books  which  they  review  in  its 
pages,  and  the  quack  suffers  from  the  ills  which  through 
its  columns  he  professes  to  cure.  The  bald  man  who  sells 
a  wonderful  hair  restorer,  the  cripple  who  can  help  the 
lame,  and  the  anaemic  pill-maker  who  professes  ability  to 
cure  any  disease,  all  advertise  in  the  Dawn.  A  newspaper 
is  as  untruthful  as  an  epitaph,  Flynn." 

"  If  you  dislike  the  work  so  much  why  do  you  remain 
on  the  staff  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  do  not  dislike  it.  Being  by  nature  a  literary  Philistine 
and  vagabond  journalist,  I  love  the  work.  Anyhow,  there 
is  nothing  else  which  I  can  do.  If  I  happened  to  be  placed 
on  a  square  acre  of  earth  fresh  from  the  hands  of  the 


UNSKILLED  LABOUR  281 

Creator,  and  given  a  spade  and  shovel  to  work  with,  what 
use  could  I  make  of  those  tools  of  labour  ?  I  could  not 
earn  my  living  with  a  spade  and  shovel.  It  was  for  the 
like  of  us  that  London  and  journalism  were  created." 

For  a  while  I  was  very  much  out  of  my  place  at  my 
quarters  in  Bloomsbury,  for  it  was  in  that  locality  that 
I  obtained  rooms  along  with  Barwell.  Everything  in  the 
place  was  a  fresh  experience  to  me ;  at  the  dinner-table 
I  did  not  know  the  names  of  the  dishes.  The  table  napkins 
were  problems  which  were  new  to  me,  and  the  frilled  and 
collared  maid-servant  was  a  phenomena,  disconcerting  and 
unavoidable. 

I  who  had  cooked  my  own  chops  for  the  best  part  of 
seven  years,  I  who  had  dined  in  moleskin  and  rags  for 
such  a  long  while,  felt  the  handicap  of  dining  inside  four 
walls,  hemmed  with  restraint,  and  almost  choked  with  the 
horrible  starched  abomination  which  decency  decreed  that 
I  should  wear  around  my  neck.  It  was  very  wearisome. 
Barwell  was  utterly  careless  and  outraged  custom  with 
impunity,  but  I,  who  feared  to  do  the  wrong  thing,  always 
remained  on  the  tenter-hooks  of  suspense.  Barwell  knew 
what  should  be  done  and  seldom  did  it,  while  I,  who  was 
only  learning  the  very  rudimentary  affectations  of  civilised 
society,  took  care  to  follow  out  the  most  stringent  com- 
mands of  etiquette  whenever  I  became  aware  of  those 
commands. 

At  the  office  of  the  Dawn  I  was  reticent  and  backward. 
I  lacked  the  cleverness,  the  smartness  and  readiness  of 
expression  with  which  other  members  of  the  staff  were 
gifted.  I  had  come  into  a  new  world,  utterly  foreign  to  me, 
and  often  I  longed  to  be  back  again  with  Moleskin  Joe  on 
some  long  road  leading  to  nowhere. 

For  a  while  my  stories  were  not  successful,  although  I 
made  a  point  of  seeing  the  things  of  which  I  wrote.  I  came 
back  to  the  office  every  evening  full  of  my  subject,  whether 


282    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

a  florist's  exhibition,  a  cat  show,  or  a  police  court  case,  and 
sat  down  seriously  to  write  my  story.  When  half-written 
I  tore  it  up  seriously  and  began  again.  When  satisfied  with 
the  whole  completed  account  I  took  it  to  the  sub-editor, 
who  read  it  seriously  and  seriously  threw  it  into  the  waste- 
paper  basket.  At  the  end  of  the  first  week  I  found  that 
only  two  articles  of  mine  had  appeared  in  the  Dawn.  I 
had  written  eight. 

"  You  write  in  too  serious  a  vein  for  a  modern  paper," 
said  the  sub-editor. 

When  the  spring  came  round  I  could  feel,  even  in  Fleet 
Street,  the  spell  of  the  old  roving  days  come  over  me  ; 
those  days  when  Moleskin  and  I  tramped  along  the  roads 
of  Scotland,  thanking  God  for  the  little  scraps  of  tobacco 
which  we  found  in  our  pockets,  while  wondering  where 
the  next  pipeful  could  be  obtained  !  My  heart  went  out 
to  the  old  mates  and  the  old  places.  I  had  a  longing  for 
the  little  fire  in  the  darkness,  the  smell  of  the  wet  earth, 
the  first  glimpse  of  the  bend  in  the  road,  and  the  dream 
about  the  world  of  mystery  lying  round  the  corner.  When 
I  went  across  Blackfriars  Bridge,  or  along  the  Strand,  on 
a  cold,  bracing  morning,  I  wanted  to  walk  on  ever  so  far, 
away — away.  Where  to — it  didn't  matter.  The  office 
choked  me,  smothered  me ;  it  felt  so  like  a  prison.  I  wanted 
to  be  with  Moleskin  Joe,  and  often  I  asked  myself,  "  Where 
is  he  now  ?  what  is  my  old  comrade  doing  at  this  moment  ? 
Is  the  old  vagabond  still  happy  in  his  wanderings  and 
his  hopes  of  a  good  time  coming,  or  has  he  finished  up 
his  last  shift  and  handed  in  his  final  check  for  good  and 
all  ?  "  Often  I  longed  to  see  him  again  and  travel  with 
him  to  new  and  strange  places. 

Of  my  salary,  now  three  pounds  a  week,  I  sent  a  guinea 
home  to  my  own  people  every  Saturday.  Of  course,  now, 
getting  so  much,  they  wanted  more.  Journalism  to  them 
implied  some  hazy  kind  of  work  where  money  was  stint- 


UNSKILLED  LABOUR  283 

less  and  to  be  had  for  the  asking.  My  other  brothers  were 
going  out  into  the  world  now,  and  my  eldest  sister  had 
gone  to  America.  "  I  wish  that  I  could  keep  them  at 
home,"  wrote  my  mother.  "  You  are  so  long  away  now 
that  we  do  not  miss  you." 

"  Will  you  go  down  to  Cyfladd,  Flynn,  and  write  some 
'  stories  '  about  the  coal  strike  ?  "  asked  the  news  editor 
one  morning.  "  I  think  that  you  have  a  natural  bent  for 
these  labour  affairs.  Your  navvy  stories  were  undoubtedly 
good,  and  even  a  spicy  bit  of  socialism  added  to  their 
charm." 

"  Spicy  bit  of  socialism,  indeed  !  "  broke  in  the  irre- 
pressible Barwell.  "  The  day  will  come  when  the  working 
men  of  England  shall  invade  London  and  decorate  Fleet 
Street  with  the  gibbeted  bodies  of  hireling  editors.  Have 
you  a  cigarette  to  spare,  Manwell  ?  " 

"  You  go  down  to  Cyfladd,  Flynn,"  said  the  news  editor, 
handing  his  cigarette-case  to  Barwell.  "  See  what  is  doing 
there  and  write  up  good  human  stories  dealing  with  the 
discontent  of  the  workers.  Do  not  be  afraid  to  state  things 
bluntly.  Tell  about  their  drinking  and  quarrelling,  and 
if  you  come  across  miners  who  are  in  good  circumstance 
don't  fail  to  write  about  it." 

"  But  suppose  for  a  moment  that  he  comes  across  men 
who  are  really  poor,  men  who  may  not  have  had  enough 
wages  to  make  both  ends  meet,  what  is  he  to  do  ?  "  asked 
loquacious  Barwell,  the  socialistic  Philistine,  who  played 
with  ideas  for  the  mere  sake  of  the  ideas.  "  For  myself, 
I  do  not  believe  in  the  right  to  strike,  and  I  admire  the 
man  who  starves  to  death  without  making  a  fuss.  Why 
should  uncultured  and  uneducated  miners  create  a  fuss  if 
they  are  starved  to  death  in  order  to  satisfy  the  needs  of 
honourable  and  learned  gentlemen  ?  What  right  has  a 
common  worker  to  ask  for  higher  wages  ?  What  right 
has  he  to  take  a  wife  and  bring  up  children  ?  The  children 


284    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

of  the  poor  should  be  fattened  and  served  up  on  the  tables 
of  the  rich,  as  advocated  by  Dean  Swift  in  an  age  prior 
to  the  existence  of  the  Dawn.  The  children  of  the  poor 
who  cannot  become  workers  become  wastrels ;  the  rich 
wastrels  wear  eye-glasses  and  spats.  We  have  no  place 
in  the  scheme  of  things  for  the  wastrels  who  wear  neither 
eye-glasses  nor  spats,  therefore  I  believe  that  it  would  be 
good  for  the  nation  if  many  of  the  children  of  the  poor 
were  fattened,  killed,  and  eaten.  But  I  am  wandering  from 
the  point.  Let  us  look  at  the  highly  improbable  supposition 
of  which  I  have  spoken.  It  is  highly  improbable,  of  course, 
that  there  are  poor  people  amongst  the  miners,  for  they 
have  little  time  to  spend  the  money  which  they  take  so 
long  to  earn.  Now  and  again  they  die,  leaving  a  week's 
wages  lying  at  the  pay-office.  I  have  heard  of  cases  like 
that  several  times.  These  men,  who  are  out  on  strike,  may 
leave  a  whole  week's  pay  to  their  wives  and  children  when 
they  die,  and  for  all  that  they  grumble  and  go  out  on 
strike  !  But  we  cannot  expect  anything  else  from  un- 
educated workmen.  I  am  wandering  from  the  point  again, 
and  the  point  is  this :  Suppose,  for  an  instant,  that  Flynn 
doesn't  find  a  rich,  quarrelsome,  and  drunken  miner  in 
Cyfladd,  what  is  he  to  do  ?  Return  again  ?  " 

"  You're  a  fool,  Barwell !  "  said  the  news  editor. 

"  Manwell,  you're  a  confirmed  fool,"  Barwell  replied. 

I  put  on  my  coat  and  hat,  stuffed  my  gloves,  which  I 
hated,  into  my  pocket,  and  went  out  into  the  street.  The 
morning  was  dry  and  cold,  the  air  was  exhilarating  and 
good  to  breathe.  I  gulped  it  down  in  mighty  mouthfuls. 
It  was  good  to  be  in  the  open  street  and  feel  the  little 
winds  whipping  by  in  mad  haste.  Up  in  the  office,  steaming 
with  cigarette  smoke,  it  was  so  stuffy,  so  dead.  Everything 
there  was  so  artificial,  so  unreal,  and  I  was  altogether  out 
of  sympathy  with  all  the  individuals  on  the  Dawn.  "  Do 
I  like  the  Dawn  ?  "  I  asked  myself.  I  wanted  to  face  things 


UNSKILLED   LABOUR  285 

frankly  at  that  moment.  "  Do  I  like  journalism,  or  merely 
feel  that  I  should  like  it  ?  "  But  I  made  no  effort  to  answer 
the  question  ;  it  was  not  very  important,  and  now  I  was 
walking  hurriedly,  trying  to  keep  myself  warm.  Two  things 
occurred  to  me  at  the  same  instant  :  I  was  short  of  money 
and  I  had  not  asked  for  my  railway  fare  to  Wales  at  the 
office.  Where  did  the  train  start  from  ?  Was  it  Euston  ? 
I  did  not  exactly  know,  and  somehow  it  didn't  seem  to 
matter. 

I  would  not  go  to  Wales  ;  I  did  not  want  to  analyse  my 
reasons  for  not  going,  but  I  was  determined  not  to  go. 
I  felt  that  in  going  I  would  be  betraying  my  own  class, 
the  workers.  Moleskin  Joe  would  never  dream  of  doing 
a  thing  like  that ;  why  should  I  ?  I  must  make  some 
excuse  at  the  office,  I  thought,  but  asked  myself  the  next 
instant  why  should  I  make  any  excuses  ?  Besides,  the 
office  was  like  a  prison  ;  it  choked  me.  I  wanted  to  leave, 
but  somehow  felt  that  I  ought  not. 

I  found  myself  going  along  Gray's  Inn  Road  towards 
my  lodging-house.  A  girl  opened  a  window  and  looked 
at  me  with  a  vacant  stare.  She  was  speaking  to  somebody 
in  the  room  behind  her  and  her  voice  trailed  before  me  like 
a  thin  mist.  She  somewhat  resembled  Norah  Ryan  :  the 
same  white  brow,  the  red  lips,  only  that  this  girl  had  a 
sorrowful  look  in  her  eyes,  as  if  too  many  weary  thoughts 
had  found  expression  there. 

How  often  during  the  last  four  months  had  I  thought 
of  Norah  Ryan.  I  longed  for  her  with  a  mighty  longing, 
and  now  that  she  was  alone  and  in  great  trouble  it  was 
my  duty  to  help  her.  I  felt  angry  with  myself  for  going 
up  to  London  when  I  should  have  followed  up  my  holier 
mission  in  Glasgow.  What  was  fortune  and  fame  to  me 
if  I  did  not  make  the  girl  whom  I  really  loved  happy  ? 
Daily  it  became  clearer  to  me  that  I  was  earnestly  and 
madly  in  love  with  Norah.  We  were  meant  for  one 


286    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

another  from  childhood,  although  destiny  played  against 
us  for  a  while.  I  would  find  her  again  and  we  would  be 
happy,  very  happy,  together,  and  the  past  would  be 
blotted  out  in  the  great  happiness  which  would  be  ours 
in  the  future.  To  me  Norah  was  always  pure  and  always 
good.  In  her  I  saw  no  wrong,  no  sin,  and  no  evil.  I 
would  look  for  her  until  I  found  her,  and  finding  her 
would  do  my  best  to  make  her  happy. 

The  girl  closed  the  window  as  I  passed.  I  came  to  my 
lodgings,  paid  the  landlady,  and  wrote  to  the  Dawn  saying 
that  I  was  leaving  London.  I  intended  to  tramp  to  the 
north,  but  a  story  of  mine  had  just  been  published  in 

and  the  money  came  to  hand  while  I  was  settling 

with  the  landlady. 

I  learned  later  that  Barwell  went  down  to  Wales.  That 
night  I  set  off  by  rail  for  Glasgow. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

THE  SEARCH 

"When  I  go  back  to  the  old  pals, 
Tis  a  glad,  glad  boy  I'll  be  ; 
With  them  will  I  share  the  doss-house  bunk 
And  join  their  revels  with  glee, 
And  the  lean  men  of  the  lone  shacks 
Will  share  their  tucker  with  me." 

— From  Songs  of  the  Dead  End. 

I  PAWNED  my  good  clothes,  my  overcoat,  and  hand- 
bag in  Glasgow,  took  a  bed  in  Moran's  model  by 
the  wharf,  and  once  again  recommenced  my  search 
for  Norah. 

The  search  was  both  fruitless  and  tiring.  Day  after 
day  I  prowled  through  the  streets,  and  each  succeeding 
midnight  found  me  on  the  spot  where  I  had  met  Norah 
on  the  evening  of  my  wrestling  encounter.  For  hours  I 
would  stand  motionless  at  the  street  corner  and  scrutinise 
every  woman  who  passed  me  by.  Sometimes  in  these 
children  of  the  night  I  fancied  that  I  detected  a  resem- 
blance to  her  whom  I  loved.  With  a  flutter  in  my  heart 
I  would  hurry  forward,  only  to  find  that  I  was  mistaken. 
Disappointed,  I  would  once  again  resume  my  vigil,  and 
sometimes  the  grey  smoky  dawn  was  slanting  across  the 
dull  roofs  of  the  houses  before  I  sought  my  model  and  bed. 
It  is  a  weary  job,  looking  for  a  friend  in  a  great  big  city. 
One  street  is  more  perplexing  than  a  hundred  miles  of 
open  country.  A  window  or  a  wall  separates  you  from 
her  whom  you  seek.  You  pass  day  after  day,  perhaps, 
within  speaking  distance  of  her  whom  you  love,  and  never 


288    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

know  that  she  is  near  you.  Every  door  is  a  puzzle,  every 
lighted  window  an  enigma.  The  great  city  is  a  Sahara, 
in  which  you  look  for  one  special  grain  of  sand ;  and  doubt, 
perplexity,  and  heart  yearning  accompany  you  on  your 
mission.  I  could  not  write,  neither  could  I  turn  my  atten- 
tion to  manual  labour.  My  whole  being  was  centred  on 
my  search,  and  the  thought  of  anything  else  was  repugnant 
to  me.  My  desire  for  Norah  grew  and  grew,  it  filled  my 
soul,  leaving  no  room  for  anything  else. 

To  Moran's,  where  I  stayed,  the  navvies  came  daily 
when  out  on  their  eternal  wanderings,  and  here  I  met 
many  of  my  old  mates.  They  came,  stopped  for  a  night, 
and  then  padded  out  for  Rosyth,  where  the  big  naval  base, 
still  in  process  of  construction,  was  then  in  its  first  stages 
of  building.  Most  of  the  men  had  heard  of  my  visit  to 
London,  and  none  seemed  surprised  at  my  return.  None 
of  them  thought  that  the  job  had  done  me  much  good, 
for  now  my  hands  were  as  white  as  a  woman's.  Carroty 
Dan,  who  came  in  drunk  one  night,  examined  me  critically 
and  allowed  that  he  could  knock  me  out  easily  in  my 
present  condition,  but  being  too  drunk  to  follow  up  any 
train  of  reasoning  he  dropped,  in  the  midst  of  his  utter- 
ances, on  the  sawdust  of  the  floor  and  fell  asleep.  Hell-fire 
Gahey,  Clancy  of  the  Cross,  Ben  the  Moocher,  and  Red 
Billy  Davis  all  passed  through  Moran's,  one  of  their  stages 
on  the  road  to  Rosyth.  Most  of  them  wanted  me  to 
accompany  the  big  stampede,  but  I  had  no  ear  for  their 
proposals.  I  had  a  mission  of  my  own,  and  until  it  was 
completed  no  man  could  persuade  me  to  leave  Glasgow. 

I  made  enquiries  about  Moleskin  Joe.  Most  of  the  men 
had  met  Moleskin  lately,  but  they  did  not  know  where 
he  was  at  the  moment.  Some  said  that  he  was  in  gaol, 
one  that  he  was  dead,  and  another  that  he  was  married. 
But  I  knew  that  if  he  was  alive,  and  that  if  I  stopped 
long  enough  in  Moran's,  I  would  meet  him  there,  for 


THE  SEARCH  289 

most  navvies  pass  that  way  more  than  once  in  their  lives. 
I  had,  however,  lost  a  great  deal  of  interest  in  Moleskin's 
doings.  There  was  only  one  thing  for  which  I  now  lived, 
and  that  was  the  search  for  the  girl  whom  I  loved. 

One  morning  about  four  o'clock  I  returned  to  my  lodgings 
and  stole  upstairs  to  the  bedroom,  which  contained  three 
other  beds  in  addition  to  mine.  The  three  were  occupied, 
and  as  I  turned  on  the  gas  I  took  a  glimpse  of  the  sleepers. 
Two  of  them  I  did  not  know,  but  I  gave  a  start  of  surprise 
when  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  unshaven  face  showing 
over  the  blankets  of  the  bed  next  to  mine.  I  was  looking 
at  Moleskin  Joe.  I  approached  the  bed.  The  man  was 
snoring  loudly  and  his  breath  was  heavy  with  the  fumes 
of  alcohol.  I  clutched  the  blankets  and  shook  the  sleeper. 

"  Moleskin  ! "  I  shouted. 

He  grumbled  out  some  incoherent  words  and  turned 
over  on  his  side. 

"  Moleskin  !  "  I  called  again,  and  gave  him  a  more 
vigorous  shake. 

"  Lemme  alone,  damn  you  !  "  he  growled.  "  There's  a 
good  time  comin' " 

The  sentence  ended  in  a  snore  and  Joe  fell  asleep  again. 
I  troubled  him  no  further,  but  turned  off  the  light  and 
slipped  into  bed. 

In  the  morning  I  woke  with  a  start  to  find  Joe  shaking 
me  with  all  his  might.  He  was  standing  beside  my  bed, 
undressed,  save  for  his  trousers. 

"  Flynn  !  "  he  yelled,  when  I  opened  my  eyes.  "  My 
great  unsanctified  Pontius  Pilate,  it's  Flynn  !  Hurrah  ! 
May  the  walls  of  hell  fall  on  me  if  I'm  not  glad  to  see 
you.  May  I  get  a  job  shoein'  geese  and  drivin'  swine  to 
clover  if  this  is  not  the  greatest  day  of  my  life  !  Dermod 

Flynn,  I  am  glad  to  see Great  blazes,  your  hands  are 

like  the  hands  of  a  brothel  slut !  " 

Joe  left  off  his  wild  discourses  and  prodded  the  hand 

u 


290    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

which  I  placed  over  the  blankets  with  his  knuckles.  He 
was  still  half  intoxicated,  and  a  bottle  three-quarters  full 
of  spirits  was  lying  against  the  pillow  of  his  bed. 

"  White  as  a  mushroom,  but  hard  as  steel,"  he  said 
when  he  finished  prodding. 

"  How  are  you,  Moleskin  ?  "  I  asked.  They  were  the 
first  words  that  I  had  spoken. 

"  Nine  pounds  to  the  good  !  "  he  roared.  "I'll  paint 
Moran's  red  with  it.  I'll  raise  Cain  and  flamin'  fiery  hell 
until  ev'ry  penny's  spent.  Then  Rosyth,  muck  barrows, 
hard  labour,  and  growlin'  gangers  again.  But  who'd  have 
thought  of  seein'  you  here  !  "  he  went  on  in  a  quieter  tone. 
"  Man  !  I've  often  been  thinkin'  of  you.  I  heard  that  you 
went  up  to  Lon'on,  then  I  found  the  name  of  the  paper 
where  you  were  workin'  your  shifts  and  I  bought  it  ev'ry 
day.  By  God  I  I  did,  Flynn.  I  read  all  them  great  pieces 
about  the  East  Lon'on  workin'  people.  I  read  some  of 
your  writin's  to  the  men  in  Burn's  at  Greenock,  and  some 
of  the  lodgers  said  that  you  were  stuck  up  and  priggish. 
I  knew  what  you'd  do  if  you  were  there  yourself.  You 
would  knock  red  and  blue  blazes  out  of  ev'ry  man  of 
them.  Well,  you  weren't  there  and  I  done  the  job  for 
you.  Talk  about  skin  and  hair !  It  was  flyin'  all  over 
the  place  between  the  hot-plate  and  the  door  for  two  hours 
and  longer.  I'm  damned  eternal  if  it  wasn't  a  fight ! 
Never  seen  the  like  of  it.  .  .  .  Man  !  your  hands  are  like  a 
woman's,  Flynn  !  .  .  .  Come  and  have  a  drink,  one  good 
long,  gulpin'  drink,  and  it  will  make  a  man  of  you !  .  .  . 
Did  you  like  the  ways  of  London  ?  " 

"  No,"  I  replied.    "  The  pen  was  not  in  my  line." 

"  I  knew  that,"  said  Joe  solemnly,  as  he  lifted  the 
bottle  from  the  pillow.  "  Finger  doctorin'  doesn't  suit  a 
man  like  you.  When  you  work  you  must  get  your  shoulder 
at  the  job  and  all  the  strength  of  your  spine  into  the  graft. 
Have  some  blasted  booze  ?  " 


THE  SEARCH  291 

"  I've  given  up  the  booze,  Moleskin,"  I  answered. 

He  glanced  at  me  with  a  look  of  frosty  contempt 
and  his  eyes  were  fixed  for  a  long  while  on  my  white 
hands. 

"  Lon'on  has  done  for  you,  man,  and  it  is  a  pity  indeed," 
he  said  at  last,  but  I  understood  Moleskin  and  knew  that 
his  compassion  was  given  more  in  jest  than  in  earnest. 
"  What  are  you  goin'  to  do  ?  Are  you  for  Rosyth  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Then  why  the  devil  aren't  you  ?  " 

"  Are  you  going  there  ?  "  I  asked,  forgetting  that  he 
had  already  told  me  of  his  design. 

"  When  I  burst  the  last  tanner  in  my  pocket,"  he 
answered.  "  I've  nine  quid  clear,  so  I'll  get  drunk  nine 
hundred  times  and  more.  What  caused  you  to  give  up 
the  booze  ?  A  woman,  was  it  ?  " 

Suddenly  the  impulse  came  to  me  and  I  told  Joe  my 
story,  my  second  meeting  with  Norah  Ryan,  and  my 
desire  to  see  her  again.  There  in  the  ragged  bed,  with 
Joe  stripped  naked  to  the  buff,  and  half  drunk,  sitting 
beside  me,  I  told  the  story  of  my  love  for  Norah,  our 
parting,  her  shame,  and  my  weary  searching  for  her  through 
the  streets  of  Glasgow.  Much  of  the  story  he  knew,  for 
I  had  told  it  to  him  in  Kinlochleven  long  before.  But  I 
wanted  to  unburden  myself  of  my  sorrow,  I  wanted  sym- 
pathy, I  wanted  the  consolation  of  a  fellow-man  in  my  hours 
of  worry.  When  I  had  finished  my  mate  remained  silent 
for  a  long  while  and  I  expected  his  usual  tirades  against 
women  when  he  began  to  speak.  On  the  contrary,  the 
story  seemed  to  have  sobered  him  and  his  voice  was  full 
of  feeling  when  he  spoke. 

"  I'm  goin'  to  help  you  to  find  your  wench,  Dermod," 
he  said.  "  That's  better  than  gettin'  drunk,  though  I'd 
prefer  gettin'  drunk  to  gettin'  married." 

"  But " 


292     CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

"  Don't  but  me  !  "  roared  Joe.  "  I'm  goin'  to  give  you 
a  hand.  Do  you  like  that  or  do  you  not  ?  " 

"  I'll  be  more  than  glad  to  have  your  help,"  I  answered  ; 
"  but " 

"  No  more  damned  buts,  but  let's  get  to  business.  Here, 
Judas  Iscariot,  are  you  feelin'  sour  this  mornin'  ?  " 

Joe  spoke  to  one  of  the  lodgers,  a  hairy  and  deformed 
fellow  who  was  just  emerging  in  all  his  nakedness  from 
the  blankets. 

"  Hellish  sour,  Moleskin  !  "  answered  the  man.  "  Any- 
thing to  spare  ?  " 

"  Take  this  and  get  drunk  out  of  sight,"  said  Moleskin, 
handing  him  the  bottle. 

"  You  mean  it  ?  "  exclaimed  the  man.  "  You  are  goin' 
to  give  me  the  whole  bottle  ?  " 

"  Take  it  and  get  out  of  my  sight,"  was  all  that  Joe 
said  and  the  old  man  left  the  room,  hugging  the  bottle 
under  his  naked  arm. 

"  He  was  a  bank  clerk  did  you  say  ?  "  asked  Moleskin. 
"  Them  sort  of  fellows  that  wear  white  collars  and  are 
always  washing  themselves.  I  never  could  trust  them, 
Flynn,  never  in  all  my  natural.  Now  give  me  the  farmer 
cully's  address  ;  maybe  he  knows  where  your  wench  is." 

In  my  heart  of  hearts  I  knew  that  the  mission  proposed 
by  Joe  would  have  no  beneficial  results,  but  I  could  not 
for  the  life  of  me  say  a  word  to  restrain  him  from  going. 
In  my  mind  there  was  a  blind  trust  in  some  unshapen 
chance  and  I  allowed  Joe  to  have  his  way. 

The  farmhouse  where  Alec  Morrison  lived  being  twenty 
miles  distant  from  Glasgow,  I  offered  Joe  his  railway  fare, 
and  for  a  moment  I  was  overwhelmed  by  his  Rabelaisian 
abuse.  He  would  see  me  fried  on  the  red-hot  ovens  and 
spits  of  hell  if  ever  I  offered  him  money  again. 

Morrison  maybe  was  not  at  home  ;  perhaps  he  had  gone 
to  London,  to  Canada.  But  Joe  would  find  him  out, 


THE  SEARCH  293 

I  thought ;  and  it  was  with  a  certain  amount  of  satis- 
faction that  I  remembered  having  heard  how  Joe  once 
fought  a  man  twenty-six  times,  and  getting  knocked  out 
every  time  challenged  his  opponent  to  a  twenty-seventh 
contest.  In  the  last  fight  my  mate  was  victorious. 

During  his  absence  I  moped  about,  unable  to  work, 
unable  to  think,  and  hoping  against  hope  that  the  mission 
would  be  successful.  Late  in  the  afternoon  he  returned 
with  a  sprained  thumb  and  without  any  tidings  of  my 
sweetheart.  The  clerk  was  at  home,  and  the  encounter 
with  Joe  was  violent  from  the  outset.  Morrison  said  that 
my  mate  was  a  fool  who  had  nothing  better  to  do  than 
meddle  with  the  morals  of  young  women ;  and  refused  to 
answer  any  questions.  Joe  took  the  matter  in  hand  in 
his  usual  fistic  and  persuasive  way  and  learned  that  the 
farmer's  son  had  not  seen  Norah  for  years  and  that  he 
did  not  know  where  she  was.  Joe,  angry  at  his  failure, 
sprained  his  thumb  on  the  young  man's  face  before  coming 
back  to  Glasgow. 

"  And  what  was  the  good  of  this  ?  "  said  Moleskin, 
holding  up  his  sprained  thumb  and  looking  at  it.  "  It 
didn't  give  one  much  satisfaction  to  knock  him  down. 
He  is  a  fellow  with  no  thoughts  in  his  head  ;  one  of  them 
kind  that  thinks  three  shillings  a  week  paid  to  a  woman 
will  wipe  out  any  sin  or  shame.  By  God  !  I'm  a  bad  one, 
Flynn,  damned  bad,  but  I  hope  that  I've  been  worse  to 
myself  than  anybody  on  this  or  the  other  side  of  the  grave. 
Look  at  these  young  women  who  come  over  from  Ireland  ! 
I'd  rather  have  the  halter  of  Judas  Iscariot  round  my 
neck  than  be  the  cause  of  sendin'  one  of  them  to  the 
streets,  and  all  for  the  woman's  sake,  Flynn.  There  should 
be  something  done  for  these  women.  If  we  find  a  tanner 
lying  in  the  mud  we  lift  and  rub  it  on  our  coats  to  clean 
it ;  but  if  we  find  a  woman  down  we  throw  more  mud 
over  her.  ...  I  like  you,  Flynn,  for  the  way  you  stand 


294    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

up  for  that  wench  of  yours.  Gold  rings,  collars,  and  clean 
boots,  and  under  it  all  a  coward.  That's  what  Morrison 
is." 

"  What  is  to  be  done  now  ?  "  I  asked.  Joe  was  silent, 
but  his  mind  was  at  work.  All  that  evening  he  sat  by 
the  bed,  his  mind  deep  in  thought,  while  I  paced  up  and 
down  the  room,  a  prey  to  agony  and  remorse. 

"  I  have  it,  Flynn,"  he  cried  at  length.  "  I  have  it, 
man  !  "  He  jumped  up  from  his  bed  in  great  excitement. 

"  Your  wench  was  Catholic  and  she  would  go  to  the 
chapel ;  a  lot  of  them  do.  They  steal  into  church  just 
like  thieves,  almost  afraid  to  ask  pardon  for  their  sins, 
Flynn.  If  there  is  anything  good  in  them  they  hide  it, 
just  as  another  person  would  hide  a  fault ;  but  maybe 
some  priest  knows  her,  some  priest  on  the  south  side. 
We'll  go  and  ask  one  of  the  clergy  fellows  thereabouts. 
Maybe  one  of  them  will  have  met  the  woman.  I've  never 

knew  a "  He  stopped  suddenly  and  left  the  sentence 

unspoken. 

"  Go  on,"  I  said.    "  What  were  you  going  to  say  ?  " 

"  Most  of  the  women  that  I  know  go  to  church." 

His  words  spoke  volumes.  Well  did  I  know  the  class 
of  women  who  were  friends  of  Moleskin  Joe,  and  from 
personal  experience  I  knew  that  his  remarks  were  true. 

It  was  now  eight  o'clock.  We  went  out  together  and 
sought  the  priest  who  had  charge  of  the  chapel  nearest 
the  spot  where  many  months  before  I  had  met  Norah 
Ryan.  The  priest  was  a  grey-haired  and  kindly  old  Irish- 
man, and  he  welcomed  us  heartily.  Joe,  to  whom  a  priest 
represented  some  kind  of  monster,  was  silent  in  the  man's 
presence,  but  I,  having  been  born  and  bred  a  Roman 
Catholic,  was  more  at  home  with  the  old  man. 

I  told  my  story,  but  he  was  unable  to  offer  any  assis- 
tance. His  congregation  was  a  large  one  and  many  of 
its  members  were  personally  unknown  to  him. 


THE  SEARCH  295 

"  But  in  the  confessional,  Father,"  I  said.  "  Probably 
there  you  have  heard  a  story  similar  to  mine.  Maybe  the 
girl  whom  I  seek  has  told  you  of  her  life  when  confessing 
her  sins.  Perhaps  you  may  recollect  hearing  such  a  story 
in  the  confessional,  Father." 

"  It  may  be,  but  in  that  case  the  affair  rests  between 
the  penitent  and  God,"  said  the  old  priest  sadly,  and  a 
far-away  look  came  into  his  kindly  eyes. 

"  If  the  disclosure  of  a  confessional  secret  brings  happi- 
ness to  one  mortal  at  the  expense  of  none,  is  it  not  best 
for  a  man  to  disclose  it  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  act  under  God's  orders  and  He  knows  what  is  best," 
said  the  old  man,  and  there  was  a  touch  of  reproof  in  his 
voice. 

Sick  at  heart,  I  rose  to  take  my  leave.  Moleskin,  glad 
to  escape  from  the  house,  hurried  towards  the  door  which 
the  priest  opened.  As  I  was  passing  out,  the  old  man  laid 
a  detaining  hand  upon  my  arm. 

"  In  a  situation  like  this,  one  of  God's  servants  hardly 
knows  what  is  best  to  do,"  he  said  in  a  low  whisper  which 
Moleskin,  already  in  the  street,  could  not  hear.  "  Perhaps 
it  is  not  contrary  to  God's  wishes  that  I  should  go  against 
His  commands  and  make  two  of  His  children  happy  even 
in  this  world.  Three  months  ago,  your  sweetheart  was  in 
this  very  district,  in  this  parish,  and  in  this  chapel.  Do 
not  ask  me  how  I  have  learned  this,"  he  hurried  on,  as 
I  made  a  movement  to  interrupt  him.  "  If  I  mistake  not 
she  was  then  in  good  health  and  eager  to  give  up  a  certain 
sin,  which  God  has  long  since  forgiven.  Be  clean  of  heart, 
my  child,  and  God  will  aid  you  in  your  search  and  you'll 
surely  find  her." 

He  closed  the  door  softly  behind  me  and  once  again  I 
found  myself  in  the  street  along  with  Moleskin. 

"  What  was  the  fellow  sayin'  to  you  ?  "  asked  my 
mate. 


296    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

"  He  says  that  he  has  seen  her  three  months  ago,"  I 
answered.  "  But  goodness  knows  where  she  is  now  !  " 

In  the  subsequent  search  Moleskin  showed  infinite  re- 
source. Torn  by  the  emotions  of  love,  I  could  not  form 
correct  judgments.  No  sooner  had  one  expedient  failed, 
however,  than  my  mate  suggested  another.  On  the 
morning  after  our  interview  with  the  priest  he  suddenly 
rose  from  his  seat  in  the  bedroom,  full  of  a  new 
design. 

"  My  great  Jehovah,  I  have  it,  Flynn  !  "  he  roared 
enthusiastically. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  I  asked.  Every  new  outburst  of  Mole- 
skin gave  me  renewed  hope. 

"  Gourock  Ellen,  that's  the  woman  !  "  he  cried.  "  She 
knows  ev'rything  and  she  lives  in  the  south  side,  where 
you  saw  your  wench  for  the  last  time.  I'm  goin'  to  see 
Gourock  Ellen,  for  she's  the  woman  that  knows  ev'ry- 
thing, by  God  !  she  does.  You  can  stop  here  and  I'll  be 
back  in  next  to  no  time." 

About  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening  Joe  returned.  There 
was  a  strained  look  on  his  face  and  he  gazed  at  me  furtively 
when  he  entered.  Instantly  I  realised  that  the  search 
had  not  gone  well.  He  was  nervous  and  agitated,  and  his 
voice  was  low  and  subdued.  It  was  not  Moleskin's  voice 
at  all.  Something  had  happened,  something  discouraging, 
awful. 

"  I'm  back  again,"  he  said. 

"  Have  you  seen  her,  Joe  ?  "  I  asked  hoarsely.  I  had 
been  waiting  his  return  for  hours  and  I  was  on  the  tenter- 
hooks of  suspense. 

"  I've  seen  Gourock  Ellen,"  said  Joe. 

"  Does  she  know  anything  about  Norah  ?  " 

"  She  does."  I  waited  for  further  information,  but  my 
mate  relapsed  into  a  silence  which  irritated  me. 

"  Where  is  Norah,  Moleskin  ?  "  I  cried.    "  Tell  me  what 


THE  SEARCH  297 

that  woman  said.  I'm  sick  of  waiting  day  after  day. 
What  did  Gourock  Ellen  tell  you,  Joe  ?  " 

"  I  saw  Norah  Ryan,  too,"  was  Moleskin's  answer. 

"  Thank  you,  Moleskin  !  "  I  cried  impetuously.  "  You're 
a  real  good  sort " 

A  look  at  Joe's  face  damped  my  enthusiasm.  Why  the 
agitation  and  faltering  voice  ?  Presentiments  of  bad 
tidings  filled  my  mind  and  my  voice  trembled  as  I  put 
the  next  question. 

"  Where  did  you  see  her,  Joe  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  In  Gourock  Ellen's  house." 

"  In  that  woman's  house  !  "  I  gasped  involuntarily,  for 
I  had  not  rid  myself  of  the  fugitive  disgust  with  which  I 
had  regarded  that  woman  when  first  I  met  her.  "  That's 
not  the  house  for  Norah  !  What  took  her  there  ?  " 

"  Gourock  Ellen  found  Norah  lyin'  on  the  streets  hurted 
because  some  hooligans  treated  her  shameful,"  said  Joe, 
in  a  low  and  almost  inaudible  voice.  "  For  the  last  six 
weeks  she  has  watched  over  your  girl,  day  and  night,  when 
there  was  not  another  friend  to  help  her  in  all  the  world. 
And  now  Norah  Ryan  is  for  death.  She'll  not  live  another 
twenty-four  hours  !  " 

To  me  existence  has  meant  succeeding  reconciliations 
to  new  misfortunes,  and  now  the  greatest  misfortune  had 
happened.  Moleskin's  words  cut  through  my  heart  as  a 
whiplash  cuts  through  the  naked  flesh.  Fate,  chance,  and 
the  gods  were  against  me,  and  the  spine  of  life  was  almost 
broken. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

THE  END  OF  THE  STORY 

"  Our  years  pass  like  a  tale  that  is  told  badly." 

— MOLESKIN  JOE. 

THE  darkness  had  long  since  fallen  over  the 
tumbledown  rookeries  of  the  Glasgow  alley 
wherein  this  story  is  to  end,  but  the  ragged 
children  still  played  in  the  gutters  and  the  old  withered 
women  still  gossiped  on  the  pavements.  Two  drunken 
men  fought  outside  a  public-house  and  another  lay  asleep 
on  the  dirty  kerbstone.  When  Moleskin  and  I  came  to 
the  close  which  was  well  known  to  my  mate  we  had  to 
step  over  the  drunken  man  in  making  an  entrance. 

We  passed  through  a  long  arched  passage  and  made 
our  way  up  a  flight  of  rickety  wooden  stairs,  which  were 
»  cracked  at  every  step,  while  each  crack  was  filled  with 
the  undisturbed  dirt  of  months. 

"  In  there,"  said  Joe,  pointing  to  a  splintered  door  when 
we  gained  the  top  landing.  "  I'm  goin'  to  stop  outside 
and  wait  till  you  come  back  again." 

I  rapped  on  the  door,  but  there  was  no  response.  I 
pushed  against  the  handle  and  it  opened  inwards.  An 
open  door  is  a  sure  sign  of  poverty.  It  is  a  waste  of  time 
to  lock  a  door  on  an  empty  house.  Here  where  the  wealth 
of  men  was  not  kept,  the  purity  of  women  could  not  be 
stolen.  Probably  Death  had  effected  his  entrance  before 
me,  but  he  is  one  whom  no  door  can  hold.  I  looked  into 
the  room. 


THE  END   OF  THE  STORY        299 

How  bare  it  looked  !  A  guttering  candle  threw  a  dim 
light  over  the  place  and  showed  up  the  nakedness  of  the 
apartment.  The  paper  on  the  walls  was  greasy  to  the  height 
of  a  man's  head  and  there  was  no  picture  or  ornament  in 
the  place  to  bring  out  one  reviving  thought.  The  floor 
was  dirty,  worn,  and  uncarpeted ;  a  pile  of  dead  ashes 
was  in  the  fireplace  and  a  frying-pan  without  a  handle  lay 
in  one  corner  of  the  room.  No  chair  was  to  be  seen.  A 
pile  of  rags  lay  on  the  floor  and  these  looked  as  if  they  had 
been  used  for  a  bed.  The  window  was  open,  probably  to 
let  the  air  into  the  room,  but  instead  of  the  pure  fresh  air, 
the  smoke  of  a  neighbouring  chimney  stole  into  the  chamber. 

This  much  did  my  eyes  take  in  vaguely  before  I  saw  the 
truckle  bed  which  was  placed  along  the  wall  near  the 
window.  On  the  bed  a  woman  lay  asleep — or  maybe  dead  ! 
I  approached  quietly  and  stood  by  the  bedside.  I  was 
again  looking  at  Norah,  my  sweetheart,  grown  fairer  yet 
through  sin  and  sorrow.  The  face  was  white  as  the  petals 
of  some  water  flower,  and  the  shadow  of  the  long  wavy 
hair  about  it  seemed  to  make  it  whiter  still.  She  was 
asleep  and  I  stood  there  lost  in  contemplation  of  her,  a 
spirit  which  the  first  breeze  might  waft  away.  Her  sleep 
was  sound.  I  could  see  her  bosom  rising  and  falling  under 
the  ragged  coverlet  and  could  hear  the  even  breath  drawn 
softly  in  between  the  white  lips  now  despoiled  of  all  the 
cherry  redness  of  six  years  ago.  Instinctively  I  knew  that 
the  life  of  her  was  already  broken  in  the  grip  of  sorrow 
and  death. 

Suddenly  she  opened  her  soft  grey  eyes.  In  their  calm 
and  tragic  depths  a  strange  lustre  resembling  nothing 
earthly  shone  for  a  moment.  There  was  in  them  the 
peace  which  had  taken  the  place  of  vanished  hopes  and 
the  calm  and  sorrowful  acceptance  of  an  end  far  different 
from  her  childish  dreams. 

She  started  up  in  the  bed  and  a  startled  look  stole  into 


300    CHILDREN  OF  THE   DEAD  END 

her  face.  A  bright  colour  glowed  faintly  in  her  cheeks, 
and  about  her  face  there  was  still  the  girlish  grace  of  the 
Norah  whom  I  had  met  years  before  on  the  leading  road 
to  Greenanore. 

"  I  was  dreamin'  of  ye,  Dermod,"  she  said  in  a  low 
silvery  voice.  "  Ye  were  long  in  comin'." 

Sitting  up  with  one  elbow  buried  in  the  pillow,  her 
chemise  slipped  from  her  shoulders  and  her  skin  looked 
very  pink  and  delicate  under  the  scattered  locks  of  brown 
hair.  I  went  down  on  my  knees  by  the  bedside  and  clasped 
both  her  hands  in  mine.  She  was  expecting  me — waiting 
for  me. 

"  Ellen  told  me  that  ye  were  lookin'  for  meself,"  she 
continued.  "  A  man  came  this  mornin'." 

"  I  sent  him,  Norah,"  I  said.  "  Tis  good  to  see  you 
again,  darling.  I  have  been  looking  for  you  such  a  long 
time." 

"  Have  ye  ?  "  was  all  her  answer,  and  gripping  my  two 
big  hands  tightly  with  her  little  ones  she  began  to  sob 
like  a  child. 

"  It's  the  kindly  way  that  ye  have  with  ye,  Dermod," 
she  went  on,  sinking  back  into  the  bed.  Her  tearless  sobs 
were  almost  choking  her  and  she  gazed  up  at  the  roof 
with  sad,  blank  eyes.  "  Ye  don't  know  what  I  am  and 
the  kind  of  life  I  have  been  leadin'  for  a  good  lot  of  years, 
to  come  and  speak  to  me  again.  It's  not  for  a  decent  man 
like  ye  to  speak  to  the  likes  of  my  kind  !  It's  meself  that 
has  suffered  a  big  lot,  too,  Dermod,  and  I  deserve  pity 
more  than  hate.  Me  sufferin's  would  have  broke  the  heart 
of  a  cold  mountainy  stone." 

"  Poor  Norah  !  well  do  I  know  what  you  have  suffered," 
I  said.  "  I  have  been  looking  for  you  for  a  long  while 
and  I  want  to  make  you  happy  now  that  I  have  found  you." 

"  Make  me  happy  !  "  she  exclaimed,  withdrawing  her 
hands  from  mine.  "  What  would  ye  be  doin'  wantin'  to 


THE   END   OF  THE  STORY       301 

make  me  happy  ?  I'm  dead  to  ev'rybody,  to  the  people 
at  home,  and  to  me  own  very  mother  !  What  would  she 
want  with  me  now,  me,  her  daughter,  and  the  mother  of 
a  child  that  never  had  a  priest's  blessin'  on  its  head? 
A  child  without  a  lawful  father  !  Think  of  it,  Dermod  ! 
What  would  the  Glenmornan  people  say  if  they  met  me 
on  the  streets  ?  It  was  a  dear  child  to  me,  it  was.  And  ye 
are  wantin'  to  make  me  happy.  Ev'ry  time  ye  come  ye 
say  that  ye  are  goin'  to  make  me  happy.  D'ye  mind 
seein'  me  on  the  streets,  Dermod  ?  " 

"  I  remember  it,  Norah,"  I  said.  She  had  spoken  of  the 
times  I  came  to  see  her  and  I  did  not  understand.  Perhaps 
I  came  to  her  in  dreams. 

"  It  was  the  child,  Dermod,"  she  rambled  on  ;  "it  was 
the  little  boy  and  he  was  dyin',  both  of  a  cough  that  was 
stickin'  in  his  throat  and  of  starvation.  I  hadn't  seen 
bread  or  that  what  buys  it  for  many's  a  long  hour,  even 
for  days  itself.  I  could  not  get  work  to  do.  I  tried  to 
beg,  but  the  peelis  was  goin'  to  put  me  in  prison,  and  then 
there  was  nothin'  for  me,  Dermod,  but  to  take  to  the 
streets.  .  .  .  There  was  long  white  boats  goin'  out  and  we 
werewatchin'  them  from  the  strand  of  Trienna  Bay,  Dermod 
and  me.  I  called  him  Dermod,  but  he  never  got  the 
christenin' words  said  over  him  or  a  drop  of  holy  water.  .  .  . 
Where  is  Ellen  ?  Ellen,  ye're  a  good  friend  to  me,  ye  are. 
The  people  that  are  sib  to  meself  do  not  care  what  happens 
to  one  of  their  own  kind,  but  it's  ye  yerself  that  has  the 
good  heart,  Ellen.  And  ye  say  that  Dermod  Flynn  is 
comin'  to  see  me  ?  I  would  like  to  see  him  again.  .  .  . 
I  called  me  little  boy  after  him,  too.  .  .  .  Little  Dermod, 
I  called  him,  and  now  he's  dead  without  the  priest's 
blessin'  ever  put  over  him." 

"I'm  here,  Norah,"  I  said,  for  I  knew  that  her  mind 
was  wandering.  "  I  am  here,  Norah.  I  am  Dermod  Flynn. 
Do  you  know  me  now  ?  " 


302    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

The  long  lashes  dropped  over  her  eyes  and  hid  them 
from  my  sight. 

"  Norah,  do  you  remember  me  ?  "  I  repeated.  "  I  am 
Dermod,  Dermod  Flynn.  Say  Dermod  after  me." 

She  opened  her  eyes  again  and  looked  at  me  with  a 
puzzled  glance. 

"  Is  it  ye,  Dermod  ?  "  she  cried.  "  I  knew  that  ye  were 
comin*  to  see  me.  I  was  thinkin'  of  ye  often  and  many's 
the  time  that  I  thought  ye  were  standin'  be  me  bed  quiet 
like  and  takin'  a  look  at  me.  Ye're  here  now,  are  ye  ? 
Say  true  as  death." 

"  True  as  death,"  I  repeated  after  her.  The  phrase  was 
a  Glenmornan  one. 

"  Then  where  is  Ellen  and  where  is  the  man  that  came 
here  this  mornin'  and  left  a  handful  of  money  to  help  us 
along  ?  "  she  asked.  "  He  was  a  good  kindly  man,  givin' 
us  so  much  money  and  maybe  needin'  it  himself,  too.  Joe 
was  his  name." 

"  Moleskin  Joe,"  I  said. 

"  There  were  three  men  on  the  street  and  they  made 
fun  of  me  when  I  was  passin'  them,"  said  Norah,  and  her 
mind  was  wandering  again.  "  And  one  of  the  men  caught 
me  and  I  tried  to  get  away  and  I  struggled  and  fought. 
For  wasn't  I  forgiven  for  me  sins  at  the  chapel  that  day 
and  I  was  goin'  to  be  a  good  woman  all  the  rest  of  me  life  ? 
I  told  the  men  to  let  me  alone  and  one  of  them  kicked  me 
and  I  fell  on  the  cold  street.  No  one  came  to  help  me. 
Who  would  care  at  all,  at  all,  for  a  woman  like  me  ?  The 
very  peelis  will  not  give  me  help.  'Twas  Ellen  that  picked 
me  up  when  the  last  gasp  was  almost  in  me  mouth.  And 
she  has  been  the  good  friend  to  me  ever  since.  Sittin'  up 
at  night  be  me  side  and  workin'  her  fingers  to  the  bone 
for  me  durin'  the  livelong  day.  Ellen,  ye're  very  good 
to  me." 

"  Ellen  is  not  here,  Norah,"  I  said,  and  the  tears  were 
running  down  my  cheek. 


THE  END  OF  THE  STORY        303 

I  placed  my  hand  on  Norah's  forehead,  which  was  cold 
as  marble,  and  at  that  moment  somebody  entered  the 
room.  I  was  aware  of  the  presence  of  the  newcomer,  but 
never  looked  round.  Norah's  face  now  wore  a  look  of 
calm  repose  and  her  lashes  falling  slowly  hid  the  far-away 
look  in  her  grey  eyes.  For  a  moment  I  thought  that  she 
held  silent  council  with  the  angels. 

I  was  still  aware  of  the  presence.  Somebody  came 
forward,  bent  tenderly  over  the  bed  and  softly  brushed 
the  stray  tresses  back  from  Norah's  brow.  It  was  the 
woman,  Gourock  Ellen.  At  that  moment  I  felt  myself  an 
intruder,  one  who  was  looking  on  things  too  sacred  for 
his  eyes. 

"  Norah,  are  you  asleep  ?  "  Ellen  asked,  and  there  was 
no  answer. 

"  Norah  !  Norah  !  "  The  woman  of  the  streets  bent 
closer  to  the  girl  in  the  bed  and  pressed  her  hand  to  Norah's 
heart. 

"  Have  ye  come  back,  Ellen  ?  "  Norah  asked,  in  a  quiet 
voice  without  opening  her  eyes.  "  I  was  dreamin'  in  the 
same  old  way.  I  saw  him  comin'  back  again.  He  was 
standin'  be  me  bed  and  he  was  very  kind,  like  he  always 
was." 

"  He's  here,  little  lass,"  answered  Ellen ;  then  to  me, 
"  Speak  to  her,  man  !  She's  been  wearin'  her  heart  awa' 
thinkin'  of  you  for  a  lang,  lang,  weary  while.  Speak  to 
her  and  we'll  save  her  yet.  She's  just  wanderin'  a  bit 
in  her  heid." 

"  Then  it's  not  dreamin'  that  I  was !  "  cried  Norah. 
"  It's  Dermod  himself  that's  in  it  and  back  again.  Just 
comin'  to  see  me  !  It's  himself  that  has  the  kindly  Glen- 
mornan  heart  and  always  had.  Dermod,  Dermod  !  " 

Her  voice  became  low  and  strained  and  I  bent  closer 
to  catch  her  words. 

"  It  was  ye  that  I  was  thinkin'  of  all  the  time  and  I 


304    CHILDREN  OF  THE  DEAD  END 

was  foolish  when  we  were  workin'  with  Micky's  Jim. 
It's  all  me  fault  and  sorrow  is  on  me  because  I  made  ye 
suffer.  Maybe  ye'll  go  home  some  day.  If  ye  do,  go  to  me 
mother's  house  and  ask  her  to  forgive  me.  Tell  her  that 
I  died  on  the  year  I  left  Micky's  Jim's  squad.  I  was  not 
me  mother's  child  after  that ;  I  was  dead  to  all  the  world. 
My  fault  could  not  be  undone — that's  what  made  the 
blackness  of  it:  Niver  let  yer  own  sisters  go  into  a  strange 
country,  Dermod.  Niver  let  them  go  to  the  potato-squad, 
for  it's  the  place  that  is  evil  for  a  girl  like  me  that  hasn't 
much  sense.  Ye're  not  angry  with  me,  Dermod,  are  ye  ?  " 

"  Norah,  I  was  never  angry  with  you,"  I  said,  and  I 
kissed  her  lips.  They  were  hot  as  fire.  "  Darling,  you 
didn't  think  that  I  was  angry  with  you  ?  " 

"  No,  Dermod,  for  it's  ye  that  has  the  kindly  way  !  " 
said  the  poor  girl.  "  Would  ye  do  something  for  me  if 
iver  ye  go  back  to  yer  own  place  ?  " 

"  Anything  you  ask,  Norah,"  I  answered,  "  and  any- 
thing within  my  power  to  do." 

"  Will  ye  get  a  mass  said  for  me  in  the  chapel  at  home, 
a  mass  for  the  repose  of  me  soul  ?  "  she  asked.  "  If  ye  do 
I'll  be  very  happy." 

When  I  raised  my  head,  Moleskin  was  in  the  room.  He 
had  stolen  in  quietly,  tired  of  waiting,  and  perhaps  curious 
to  see  the  end.  He  removed  his  cap  and  stood  in  the 
middle  of  the  floor  and  looked  curiously  around.  Norah 
sat  up  in  bed  and  beckoned  Ellen  to  approach. 

She  opened  her  mouth  as  if  to  speak,  but  there  was  a 
rattle  in  her  throat,  her  teeth  chattered,  her  hands  opened 
and  closed  like  those  of  a  drowning  man  who  clutches  at 
floating  sedge,  and  she  dropped  back  to  the  pillow.  Ellen 
and  I  hastened  to  help  her,  and  laid  her  down  quietly  on 
the  bed.  Her  eyes  were  open,  her  mouth  wide  apart 
showing  two  rows  of  white  teeth.  The  spirit  of  the  girl 
I  loved  had  passed  away.  Without  doubt,  outside  and 


THE  END  OF  THE  STORY       305 

over  the  smoke  of  the  large  city,  a  great  angel  with  out- 
spread wings  was  waiting  for  her  soul. 

I  was  conscious  of  a  great  relief.  Death,  the  universal 
comforter,  had  smoothed  out  things  in  a  way  that  was 
best  for  the  little  girl,  who  knew  the  deep  sorrows  of  an 
erring  woman  when  only  a  child. 

Joe  looked  awkwardly  around.  There  was  something 
weighing  on  his  mind.  Presently  he  touched  me  on  the 
arm. 

"  Would  there  be  any  harm  in  me  goin'  down  on  my 
knees  and  sayin'  a  prayer  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No  harm,  Joe,"  I  said,  as  I  knelt  again  by  the  bedside. 

Ellen  and  Joe  went  down  on  their  knees  beside  me. 
Outside  the  sounds  of  the  city  were  loud  in  the  air.  An 
organ-grinder  played  his  organ  on  the  pavement ;  a  crowd 
of  youngsters  passed  by,  roaring  out  a  comic  song.  Norah 
lay  peacefully  in  the  Great  Sleep.  I  could  neither  think 
nor  pray.  My  eyes  were  riveted  on  the  dead  woman. 

The  candle  made  a  final  splutter  and  went  out.  Inside 
the  room  there  was  complete  darkness.  Joe  hardly 
breathed,  and  not  knowing  a  prayer,  he  was  silent.  From 
time  to  time  I  could  hear  loud  sobs,  the  words  of  a  great 
prayer — the  heart  prayer  of  a  stricken  woman.  Gourock 
Ellen  was  weeping. 


THE  END 


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